Pick Me
by MsSailorman
Summary: "It occurs to me that literally every single human being I've had any kind of sexual contact with is standing before me at the office party from hell. I need a drink." Between her ex, her teacher, her boss, and her boss' boss, Bella's life is not going exactly to plan.
1. Meet Cute

It always starts in a bar, doesn't it? I'm a walking stereotype with my fake ID, sweaty palms, and short dress. Well, a sitting stereotype. I haven't moved from the stool I claimed forty-five minutes ago, much to the irritation of the people elbowing around me to get the bartender's attention.

"Are you feeling better?" Alice yells in my ear, struggling to be heard over the music.

I shrug at her. I'm feeling drunk; I don't know about 'better' – it feels like my thoughts are being emptied out of my body and replaced by sensation, like I'm just a vessel for this experience. My skin is prickling from being brushed by so many people, my ears hollow from the music, my body over stimulated with nervous energy. I've never snuck into a bar before – I lost my audacity for this mission before we stepped inside and not even four servings of liquid courage have bolstered me.

"We can go if you want," she yells again, her dangly earrings reflecting the red and blue lights into small starbursts on her cheeks.

Shaking my head, I pull at her wrist. I don't want to disappoint her when she is trying so hard. "Let's dance."

She's surprised, but grins at me, slugging the rest of her gin and scooting off the stool. With her heels, she's only a couple inches shorter than me. I wonder if she can dance in them. But as I stand up beside her in my much more practical flats, I wonder if I can dance either. My legs feel oddly disjointed from my torso.

"Are you ok?" She's only had two drinks. But I'm the one nursing my broken heart here.

"Yeah, I just got dizzy for a second."

"Hold on to me," she commands in my ear before wading through the crowd.

We find a small niche in the gyrating bodies and begin moving in our own rhythms to the beat of a song that sounds vaguely familiar, though I can't place it. I'm copying her dance moves as best I can, mirroring her body language and weaving back and forth in our tiny gap. She eyes me with the courage I left at the door and swivels her hips gently, pressing one hand to my own hip to help me find the rhythm.

And suddenly I'm having fun. Maybe it's because Alice is subtly manipulating my body into doing something that feels remotely coordinated or because that last whiskey sour is flipping the bird to my liver, but I smile at her. Thank god for Alice. She paid for all the drinks, picked out my outfit, and, most importantly, got me off my couch and away from the tub of Ben and Jerry's.

"Better," she shouts at me, beaming. She isn't asking. She can tell.

'Thank you." It doesn't sound very sincere because I'm yelling three inches from her face, but I mean it.

"Fuck Emmett McCarty" she cheers.

"Fuck Emmett!" I agree wholeheartedly, throwing my hands up. As they fall down, I rest them around Alice's shoulders, hugging her to me, so grateful for her.

"Sharpies?" she laughs in my ear.

Our code word. "Is that bad?" It's been five months.

She laughs louder. "Lifelong deal, remember?" She grasps my hand and pulls it above my head to twirl me. I giggle at her, ducking and spinning. But I'm drunk.

I fall catastrophically – directly into the person behind me.

We both go down in a tangle of legs and intoxication, landing on the cement club floor. I frantically adjust my dress even as I try to help the hapless soul in my destructive wake.

"Oh my god, are you ok?" I shout.

It's a man – all jeans and jaw. He looks startled, holding his head in one hand.

"I'm fine," he shouts back, getting up. "Just hit my head. Are you ok?"

"Just my knee." No doubt the whiskey is lessening the pain. "I'm _so_ sorry! I'm so embarrassed." I'm such a drunk idiot.

"Bella," Alice calls my name, "go to the bathroom where there's light. I'm going to get you some ice from the bar."

I don't have time to argue because she disappears into the crowd. "I'm Bella," I tell the unfortunate stranger as I clamber to my feet.

"Edward." Even in this epileptic-fit-inducing lighting, I can see the bruise forming on his right temple and around his eye socket.

Poor guy probably needs the ice worse than I do. "Come with me," I yell, grabbing his wrist and pulling authoritatively, though I'm only guessing at the location of the bathrooms.

There's a black, leather padded door in the back of the club with a sign above it, proclaiming restrooms are to be found beyond. The second my accommodating cargo and I enter, the relief from the loud music is instant. It's a narrow hallway with cinderblock walls and fluorescent lighting, but the noise is blissfully dull in here. To the right are four doors marked as unisex bathrooms, but the hallway winds around the bulk of the building. There are a few people lingering down the hall probably seeking respite from the music or waiting for bathrooms, one of them holding a cigarette between her fingers.

"I'm so sorry," I apologize again now that I can hear myself think, turning to face him. I can see him better now – definitely handsome. Reddish hair, green eyes, stubble.

"Don't worry about it. It was just an accident." He sounds blasé for someone who looks like he escaped a bar fight, but I'm pretty sure he has sampled the local beverages, too.

"And sorry for dragging you off. I just wanted to make sure you got some ice. My friend is bringing some here, so hopefully the swelling won't be too bad." I examine his temple again, the bright red mark there belying the inevitable bruise.

"Yeah, I heard her. Thank you."

"You're welcome." There's a lull for a moment in which I grow intensely uncomfortable. "So what brings you out tonight?" It's the first question I come up with.

He shrugs. "Just checking the place out."

"Yeah, it just opened last week, right?" I know full well Volterra opened last week. Alice wouldn't shut up about it.

"Yeah."

Ok, Mr. Talkative. "What do you think of it so far?"

"It's not my scene," he admits. I can tell. He seems far too soft-spoken for a place like this. Not that I'm soft-spoken, but I could say the same for myself. "I can see the allure, though."

"Which is?"

"I suppose the reason most people find dancing with strangers appealing."

"Unless those strangers cause you blunt trauma."

He smirks at me and it completely changes his face. "You know, a woman once told me that I wouldn't know something good even if it smacked me upside the head. So I guess she was wrong."

"Wow." I actually say 'wow' out loud. "That's a really good line."

"Thank you. I just thought of that." He's earnest and casual.

"That's probably a good thing. It means you're not being _literally_ swept off your feet all the time." I think that's a pretty good comeback for being a little drunk.

He chuckles and cocks his head like he's taking new stock of me.

Before I entirely lose my head – because I feel my alcohol-infused impulses rattling around in my chest and lower – I ask oh-so-subtly, "Is there anybody you need to let know that you've been assaulted and kidnapped? I don't want people wondering where you are."

"No, I came alone."

Thank god. "Damn. I suppose I can't keep you for ransom then."

"Foiled again," he agrees.

"I'll have to concoct another plan," I tease.

"You'll find that I'm a pretty agreeable abductee." He says it matter-of-factly, but the way he's looking at me makes me think I should exercise my right as a newly single woman to bang a handsome stranger. But that might be the whiskey talking.

"There you are!" Alice cries, bursting in from the club door, causing the other people in the hallway to stare. "Bella, are you ok? Are you the guy she almost killed?" Her head swivels between the two of us, holding two cups of ice.

I duck my head, embarrassed. "Alice, Edward. Edward, Alice."

"Well, at least you fell into a cute one," she says to me, no filter as usual. "I brought ice." She eyes his injuries. "You definitely need it. Did you hit your head on the floor?"

"Um, I think I got a foot to the face somewhere on the way down."

"I am _so_ sorry," I repeat myself again, covering my face with my hands.

"If anything, I would be more worried about that knee." He calmly points to my left leg where there is already clear swelling.

"Damn," I mutter, pressing the edge of the cold cup to my joint. "This is going to hurt like a bitch tomorrow."

"That does look pretty nasty," Alice agrees. "Do you want to call it a night?"

"No, I'm fine. Really." I incline my head slightly towards Edward and widen my eyes at her for a moment.

She understands immediately and tries to hide her smile. "Well, if we're staying, you better buy this poor guy a drink to make up for bashing his face."

Oh, Alice, I love you. "I did say I was kidnapping you," I joke. "Can I buy you a drink? You know, to cement the Stockholm Syndrome and all."

He looks uncomfortable.

"Or not," I add quickly. "I mean, you're probably in pain and –."  
"No," he interrupts softly, "it's just . . . I don't drink."

"Oh." I start laughing. Why the hell is he in a bar?

His eyes narrow, challenging me, probably not keen on my giggles. "I'll take a dance instead of a drink."

Alice whistles. "He's a brave one, Bella."

"Sure, but I can't promise your safety."

"I'm willing to take the risk."

And, just like that, we're out on the dance floor again, Alice watching us from the bar, holding our only briefly used ice cups, and grinning ear to ear. Maybe I'm sobering up, but my heart is racing. It occurs to me that I don't know how to do this. Am I supposed to put my arms around his neck like prom? The song is too upbeat to slow dance. Grind on him like a music video? Way too aggressive. Not touch him at all? So awkward.

Luckily, he saves me, putting his hands on my hips. It feels gentlemanly and far too intimate at the same time. I press one hand to his chest and one to his shoulder, swaying my hips like Alice did, but feeling robotic and self-conscious. Am I supposed to make eye contact?

I chance it because I feel prickles on my skin.

He's already looking at me.

Breathing out slowly, I close my eyes, trying to find a semblance of rhythm and stepping in closer to him until our legs touch. I can feel him moving to the beat more easily, synching my body to his and relaxing into his muscles. And, just like with Alice – _there it is._ I feel it suddenly: confidence, sexiness, and ease.

My eyes slip open again and I smile seductively at him, my hand running lower on his torso. I can have him if I want. I already have him. I know it. He grips my hips tighter, reeling me in closer like he's read my thoughts. Maybe it's plain on my face.

I writhe, brushing against his pelvis and letting my questing hands find purchase on his back, forearms, and abdominal muscles. Mr. Talkative, more assertive than I thought, does not bother exploring, going straight for ass-grabbing without apology or preamble. Turning my back to him, I press flush against him to the sound of an audible groan in my ear. I probably groan, too, because he's hard and I can feel it plainly through my thin, short dress.

He breathes on my neck and I feel chills over my entire body. When he stoops to kiss the space under my jaw, I immediately stop dancing and turn around.

His eyes are concerned. "Too much?" he yells.

I shake my head, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the bathrooms for the second time that night. I feel like a wild woman as I shoulder clip people on my mission. I've never done anything so brazen in my life – but I am on fire in the worst way.

Edward understands my purpose quickly, matching my stride. We barely make it into the one open bathroom – ignoring the stares of the lingering people that know exactly what we are doing – before he's pushing me up against the door, hands flush against my ribcage.

"Neck," I groan at him, tilting my head to allow him access.

Obliging, he suckles at my overwarm skin again and I don't remember ever feeling so turned on in my entire life. Then he bites me – harder than I expect – and I cry out, surprised, but liking the pain at the same time. I greedily drag his fingers up to my breasts, wanting more, more, more.

He tastes like ginger ale when I kiss him. I bite his lip – a small revenge.

Pulling back, he stares at me mischievously before lowering his head to my chest, pulling down the front of my dress to expose my breasts, pausing for a second in surprise.

"Wow," he breathes, admiring my piercings. Alice went with me to get them done last year with the same fake IDs we used to sneak in here.

"You like them?" I don't know why I'm asking. I know he does. He's captivated by the tiny silver barbells.

"Yes." To emphasize, he sucks my nipple and then bites just hard enough to make me gasp, grinning up at me.

You bite me, I bite you. The game is clear.

Not to be outdone, I reach down to feel his erection straining in his jeans. It seems almost ridiculously hard and I want to see it so badly.

"Bella?" Alice's voice sounds through the door in sync with her repeated knocking. "Are you in there?"

Oh, shit. I cringe. "Yeah, just a minute."

"Oh, thank god! I thought you were abducted!"

We hurriedly right ourselves, peeling away from the door and taking deep breaths. I know without looking in the mirror that I am bright red. Edward is flushed, too, as he adjusts himself in his pants.

"Don't go."

I smile at him. "I have to."

"I want to see you again."

I hesitate because, for as hot as that was, I don't need another man in my life. I don't need strings or broken hearts. "I'll be here next Saturday at the same time," I decide on the spot. "Come find me?"

"Bella, are you ok?" Alice asks.

"Yes, almost done," I call loudly.

"Saturday?" he repeats seriously.

"Saturday," I confirm, turning towards the door before stopping myself. "Oh, and Edward?"

"Yes?"

I lean into him and deliberately bite at his earlobe. "I win."

He smirks. "For now."

With one last deep breath, I exit into the hallway, practically running directly into Alice.

"Jeez, you were taking so – oh." She catches sight of Edward behind me, her gaze bolting between the two of us quickly, putting together the flushed skin and the messy hair. "Ohhh," she repeats, beginning to laugh. "And here I was thinking I was going to have to call the police."

I smile sheepishly, embarrassed and smug at the same time. "Goodbye," I tell him.

"For now," he repeats.

We wave a last farewell and Alice and I practically run out of Volterra, wanting the quiet of the outside to gossip.

The second we clear the front doors: "Oh. My. God."

"I know!" I'm exhilarated.

"I can't believe you –!" she exclaims.

"I know!"

"And in the bathroom of all –!"

"I know!"

"What happened? I looked away for like, five seconds to give the bartender my phone number."

"Ooh, the bartender?"

"Hey, focus, this is about you almost fucking a guy in the bathroom!" That sounds a bit harsh, but not entirely off the mark.

"He kissed my neck," I explain.

"Oh," she says sagely. She knows how I am about my neck.

"I don't know – we were just dancing and I was getting into it. Once he got to my neck, I practically dragged him to the bathroom."

"This is so exciting! Don't you feel a million times better?"

"Yes," I say honestly. "Thank you for taking me here. I think that whole crazy experience was exactly what I needed to feel . . . I don't know – sexy again."

"That's great, Bella." She's so genuinely happy for me that I want to hug her all over again. "Did you give him your number? He said goodbye _for now_."

"No, but I told him that I would come back next Saturday."

"Oh my god!" she squeals. "That's perfect because that bartender was _so_ cute."

"I don't know if I'm going back," I caution her.

"Which is totally fine," she assures me. "But if you _do_ want to go back –."

"Then we're going to be locking that door for much longer."

*V*V*V*V*V*

The only problem with waiting a week to go back to the club is all the unsavory things I have to do in between – namely: starting school.

I don't hate school – it's hard to hate what you're good at – but the last time I was here before summer break, Emmett and I had just started our relationship. Or maybe fling is the right word at this point. I don't know anymore.

It all happened very quickly. Emmett lived in Port Angeles before he went to college this fall, but he was a friend of a friend and we bumped into each other at some social event at the Native American reservation west of here. Even from across the room, his laugh was contagious and I was drawn to him. Being unused to male attention, his focus on me was flattering and it did not take much before I agreed to a date. For four months, we laughed and fucked and ate and laughed some more – before he broke up with me abruptly a month before starting his freshman year. He probably just didn't want the dead weight of a high school relationship during his first year of college. I don't entirely blame him for that, but he broke my heart.

"How are you doing?" Alice asks as I approach, waiting by my locker for me. She's dressed in fashionable tan boots and skinny jeans, perfectly coifed for the first day of school. I suppose my hoodie is a good representation of my mood.

"Fine. It's just weird being back."

"I know. At least Saturday is only four days away," she says meaningfully, winking at me. She's excited, too. She's been texting her bartender and has plans to see him Saturday, too.

I can't help myself – I smirk back. The thought of Edward has done much to improve my outlook.

As the five-minute warning bell rings, Alice asks, "You ready to go to class?"

"Nope."

"That's the spirit," she laughs, pulling my wrist.

I give in, letting myself be guided to our first period class, thankful that at least Alice will be with me. My expectations are not high for my fourth consecutive year of hearing Mr. Berty read his syllabus out loud.

The class is only partially full when Alice and I arrive, but, naturally, I recognize everyone. Mike, Angela, Connor, Lauren, Jessica, Tyler. It's odd to know someone for so long that when you look at him, you can simultaneously picture him as a young kid and the more grown person before you. It's like that with everyone here – except for Alice. She moved here freshman year, but even then I can still picture her waist length black hair from before she chopped it into a pixie cut and before her boobs grew in. Ah, youth. I'm sure I looked no better. But Alice and I have been inseparable even since the gawky years.

"Hey, guys!" Jessica greets, completely turning around in her seat to grin at us since we've taken up the farthest back corner of the classroom.

"Hey, Jess, how was your summer?" I ask. Alice doesn't bother. She has never liked Jessica.

"Boring," she sighs, instantly tragic and woeful. "I spent all of it working in my parents' store. What about you?"

I shrug because it's hard to sum up the rollercoaster. "Eh, I'm glad to be back in school."  
Jess leans towards us, ready to gossip. "I wasn't until I saw our new English teacher," she giggles.

"Why, what happened to Mr. Berty?" I ask.

"Oh, he's still here. They just needed a new English teacher to cover some more classes – and he is _so_ hot."

A throat clears at the front of the room and my eyes flick ahead. Then my heart stops in my chest for a full three seconds and Alice sucks in a shocked breath beside me.

This can't be happening.

"Fuck," I say out loud, clapping a hand to the foundation-covered bite mark on my neck – like that will hide me. I see Jessica's face turn to mine in surprise out of the corner of my sight, but I can't take my eyes off the train wreck that is unfolding.

His clothes are professional with his slacks and button-down, but his hair is the same. And, as if there was any question as to his identity, there is a purple bruise on his right temple, curling under his eye.

Edward.


	2. A Problem

I cringe as his eyes sweep the classroom, waiting to be found.

His whole expression transforms when he sees me cowering in the corner, our eyes equally wide. I can practically see him putting the pieces together, realizing I lied about my age to get into that club, realizing I am a high school student, realizing I am _his_ high school student. What are the fucking odds?

Can I leave right now? Will he stop me? Maybe I can go to the office and have my schedule changed – or, better yet, I can tell them I'm leaving and then transfer schools. I wonder if my mom will let me get away with that.

But I'm frozen in my seat, staring at Edward.

To his credit, he straightens and looks away, addressing the class.

"I'm Mr. Masen," he announces. "I'll get to know your names eventually, but I hate icebreakers, so just humor me while I take attendance."

I bet he knows my name already.

He starts calling out all the familiar names of my classmates and my heart beats even faster in anticipation.

"Alice Brandon," he says.

"Here," she says, her eyes nearly as wide as mine.

Edward's jaw clenches for half a second before he returns his gaze to his clipboard. More names follow.

Finally: "Isabella Swan."

"Here." My voice sounds strangled, almost like I'm sick.

He doesn't look up before continuing on to the next name and I feel even worse.

"Ok, everybody's here. Let's jump into reviewing the syllabus."

He passes out papers in small stacks, studiously avoiding eye contact with both Alice and me as he reaches our rows. The moment I have a syllabus in my hands, the spell is broken and I am able to avert my eyes. I stare directly downwards, pretending my hair is enough to hide me. I flip the hood of my jacket over my head for extra camouflage – like that will help. I don't hear anything he says about class expectations or the grading policy. My thoughts are too frantic, conjuring up a million possibilities.

Should I talk to him? How can I apologize? Should I just pretend it never happened? What if he says something to me first?

"All right, guys. That pretty much covers the syllabus, so you can just talk amongst yourselves until the bell rings." He seats himself at his desk in the left corner and Alice immediately passes me a note.

 _What are you going to do?_ \- A

Excellent question. I don't write back, putting my face in my hands instead. When I feel a prickle on my neck, I peek out of my hands to find Edward Masen staring directly at me, his expression unfathomable. He looks away immediately, focusing on his computer instead. Fuck.

I go back to my hands.

In the instant the bell rings, I decide to talk to him. People trickle out of the class, but I straggle behind.

"I'll catch up," I mumble to Alice meaningfully. She's shaking her head at me, but it's not her choice and she knows it.

When the room is finally clear, I approach Edward's desk. He's tense and has given up the pretense of being absorbed in his screen, opting to watch me warily instead.

"Hi," I manage.

He doesn't hesitate. "How old are you?"

I swallow. "Seventeen."

He leans back in his chair, closing his eyes. "Christ." I want to ask him how old he is.

"Look, it was my first time in a bar," I plead softly. "It was just a stupid night out and I am _so_ sorry, ok?"

"Do you have _any_ idea how –?"

"I know, I know," I whisper urgently. "I won't tell anyone. Please believe that I am absolutely mortified and I would _never_ want to get you in trouble."

"Did you know who I was?"

I am blank. And then I am aghast. "No! Oh my god, no! I had no idea. I'm not insane." I think my face is shocked enough because his jaw unclenches. "I just . . . uh, I just wanted to tell you that I am more sorry than you know and that we can just forget the whole thing ever happened."

"Yeah, wish me luck on that," he says under his breath before immediate regret crosses his face.

I know the feeling. I've been daydreaming about him since Saturday. He had my nipple in his mouth, for god's sake. "Well," I mumble, "I need to get to my next class." I don't even remember what my next class is.

He nods, lost in thought.

I turn to leave.

"Bella?"

Actual goose bumps erupt on my arms at the sound of my name. He remembers I like the shortened version. "Yes?"

"Thank you for your . . . uh, maturity about this."

God, _maturity._ It sounds condescending and I want to barf. But I remind myself: he's old and I'm young. He's teacher and I'm student. Still, it makes me wonder what he expected. A hissy fit? Me threatening to tell people? Who would do that?

"Of course."

*V*V*V*V*V*

"Hi, Mr. Marko," I say to my guidance counselor when it's finally my turn. I, like at least eight other of my fellow students, have made use of the study hall period to visit the guidance office.

"Hey, Bella," Mr. Marko says amicably, though he seems a bit flustered. "Need a schedule change?" I suppose it's hardly surprising considering it's the first day – everybody needs a schedule change.

"You guessed it." I seat myself beside his desk in the cramped office.

"Give me just a minute to pull up your file," he says, staring at his computer and absentmindedly resting his other hand on his rounded belly. "Ok, what seems to be the problem?"

"I was wondering if I could take a different English class."

"Let's see . . . you're in Advanced Placement Literature and Composition right now. Do you have a scheduling conflict?"

"Um, no. Not exactly. I just wanted to see if there was another English class I could be in."

His brow wrinkles behind his glasses. "What's wrong with your current class?"

"I'm worried it might be too difficult," I lie. I don't know what else to tell him.

Now he's frowning at me. "Bella," he says blankly, "you're the student English tutor."

Oops. "Well, yeah. I just am taking three AP classes this year and I figured I already can read and write pretty well so I might as well drop English before statistics or psychology. I'm not worried that the class will be hard in that I won't understand, but more like it will be a lot of homework to keep up with on top of my other classes." I'm proud because my lies sound halfway decent.

He's smiling knowingly at me, but he doesn't know at all. "Now, now, I get this all the time. I know you're a perfectionist and you want to do everything well, but I don't think you need to sell yourself short. Why don't you give it a try with your current load this week to get a feel for it and if it's too much, we can meet again next Monday to talk."

It's not the answer I want to hear; I don't want to be stuck in Edward's class until then. But I will just have to wait out the rest of the week. "Ok, I'll give it a try. Thanks, Mr. Marko."

"Any time!"

*V*V*V*V*V*

The next morning is not kind to me. I stayed up too late last night talking to Alice, going over every detail of this clusterfuck to the point of absurdity. It's not like we solved anything though, so I wake up with anxiety, lust, and guilt. It's a lot of emotion to deal with before I've even had cereal.

As I ready myself for school, I wonder if I can fake strep throat for a week to avoid going. After Edward's acidic reaction yesterday – not to mention my own embarrassment – I am not feeling optimistic about class. Nevertheless, I continue on blearily, tiptoeing around the house to avoid waking my mother and shutting the door quietly behind me.

Alice is waiting by my locker again when I arrive, bouncing in place. Even without seeing her guilty face, I know something is wrong.

"What's up?"

"Please don't hate me."

"Spit it out."

"I went to Marko like, fifteen minutes ago and he switched me out of AP Lit immediately."

"Oh my god. Seriously?" That asshole.

"Well, I don't take AP classes like you do," she explains apologetically. "He doesn't think I'm smart, so he let me leave. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to leave you alone!"

I shake my head. "I'm not mad. It's ok. I'll only be stuck there for two more days." Ok, I'm a little bit mad, but not in a rational way. I'm mad because I'm terrified at the thought of not having Alice with me – not having someone in there who understands how truly fucked up the whole situation is.

"Just hang low and it'll be over quickly."

I let my head fall forward. "Ok."

She kisses my cheek in that easy way of hers and excuses herself to what I can only assume is a far less stressful English course.

With little choice left, I trudge to my own classroom, almost backing out at the doorway when I realize I'm the first one to arrive – with the exception of Edward.

He's writing on the whiteboard, turning his head as I enter.

Not wanting to embarrass either of us with my flight response, I suck in a breath and take a shuddering step forward.

"Hey," he greets me. His voice is soft, tense.

"Hey." I probably sound even worse.

Capping his marker, he asks, "Why did you try to drop my class?" He sounds angry, but I don't know why.

I suppose I should have guessed that Marko is a narc. "Isn't it obvious?" Truly, I can't fathom why it's a mystery to him.

"Look, if I was too . . . I don't want my behavior yesterday to make you feel like you can't get the most out of your education."

He sounds like he rehearsed it, but his guilt assuages me, calms some of my anxiety about how badly I ruined everything. I didn't spare a second thought for his supposed _behavior_ yesterday – if anything, he was much more composed than he could have been. "I was just trying to make your life easier. Well, both of our lives."

"Seeing each other for one period instead of two every day doesn't seem like it's that much easier and I'd rather you be taking an English class that challenges you."

"What do you mean two?"

He's puzzled, tilting his head. "You're the English student assistant, right?"

I understand his meaning instantly. "You're taking over tutoring for Mr. Berty, aren't you?" I am going to be trapped in a tiny office with this man every day for the rest of the year.

"I thought you knew."

I can't stop myself from laughing. It's borderline hysterical, probably a sign of my stress, but uncontrollable. "What are the fucking odds?" I ask him through my giggles. "Of _course_ you're tutoring. Of _course_ you're my English teacher. Of _course_ you're the person I happened to knock over in a club of hundreds of people. Of _course_ you happened to be at the same place at the same time a _week_ before school." It spews out from me and I'm fully aware I sound like I'm having a mental break. Maybe I _am_ having a mental break.

He looks distinctly on edge. "Let's go to my office to talk about this."

The surge of guilt that electrifies me is enough to sober my paroxysms. He doesn't want anyone to overhear my hysteria. I'm putting him at risk by not having my shit together. Swallowing the dying titters, I allow myself to be led to his office directly across the hallway.

It looks like they repurposed the janitor's closet when they hired a new English teacher. Although the new carpet, off white paint, and smattering of desk plants do much to spruce up the place, there is little to be done to disguise its diminutive size. He gestures for me to sit in the only spare chair and closes the windowless door behind us. It's positively claustrophobic. I already want to leave.

"Are you ok?" he asks solemnly, sitting in his more comfortable wheeled chair.

I nod, swallowing again. "I'm sorry. I just, uh, I don't know what came over me. This is so unreal."

He's quiet, waiting for me to elaborate, I think. How open am I supposed to be? I feel like I'm back on that dance floor again, unsure what to say, what to do, desperately wanting a cue by which to be led.

"It won't happen again," I promise him. Maybe he wants reassurance that I'm not going to get him fired.

"Obviously," he agrees with a hint of panic. "I hope you understand I never would have . . . well, it never would have happened in the first place if I knew how old you are."

"Wait, I meant I wouldn't lose my head again, not about hooking up with – I mean, not about what happened."

His face reddens. "Oh."

I glance between his legs and I'm pretty sure he's hard. I feel lust reap my body – because we're alone and my illusion of him as an authority figure was broken before it even formed, unable to help my attraction. And, despite everything, he – physically, at least – wants me, too . . . I think.

He sees me look at his lap, but does not shift to hide, our eyes locking. His expression changes to something unreadable, something intense and chiasmic. "This is going to be a problem, isn't it?" He doesn't sound upset by the idea.

The five-minute warning bell rings, signaling an imminent start to the day and effectively breaking whatever tension churns between us. I remember that it's not even seven-thirty in the morning and we're at school with a few hundred students and staff milling about in the hallways on the other side of the door.

Edward shakes his head as if to clear it, straightening in his chair. "I'm supposed to meet with you today during the study period to go over tutoring and being the English assistant." He says it as if everything is completely normal, like his erection is not now glaringly obvious to me.

I clear my throat, realizing how dry my mouth is. "Where are we meeting?"

"My office is fine for now. I haven't reserved any other spaces yet since tutoring doesn't start until the second week of school."

I dread and relish the idea of being in this windowless shoebox with him again. "Ok," I choke out. "I guess I'll see you then."

We both stand and maneuver awkwardly to the door, having difficulty in the small space. I pretend I don't see him adjust himself in his pants out of the corner of my eye.

I have my finger grasped around the handle, ready to open the door and step into the hallway, when he presses his hand to the wood, holding it shut.

"Bella," he says.

He's so close to me and I remember how he braced me against that bathroom door, devouring my mouth and neck. Ah, my neck.

"Yes?" I wonder if he notices my goose bumps.

"I'm sorry."

I'm taken aback. "For what?"

"For . . . for not acting professionally." His eyes flick down for half a second and I know what he is thinking about.

"I think, everything considered, you're doing fine." I wouldn't want to be an untenured male teacher discovering his hookup is his underage student.

He quirks his head at me, his mouth twisting in reluctant admiration. "You are not what I expected."

It's the most puzzling thing he's said to me. "What did you expect?"

He shakes his head, but I can't tell if he doesn't want to answer or doesn't have an answer. "Don't drop my class, ok?"

For some reason, I breathe, "Ok."

*V*V*V*V*V*


	3. Olive Branch

*V*V*V*V*V*

Alice is literally quivering in her seat by the time I see her at lunch, frantically waving her hands to catch my attention and point out the seat she has saved for me.

"How did it go?" she asks without preamble. "Did you stay under the radar?"

I hardly know where to begin. "Um, no."

This answer makes her eyes bug out and her plastic chair gives a pained shriek as she scoots closer to me. "Oh no, what happened?"

I launch into my story, relaying as much as I can remember in hushed tones – despite Alice's frequent interruptions: _oh my god, he got hard? He said what? What did you say back?_

"Are you going to stay in his class?"

I shrug. "I . . . I don't know. I think so. I have until Monday to decide."

"And what are you going to do otherwise?" she asks meaningfully.

"What do you mean?"

She leans in even closer, our cheeks almost touching. "Are you going to have sex with him?"

"No," I respond immediately before adding, "I mean, we can't. He would get fired."

"I'm just saying that you guys clearly have chemistry and I doubt being holed up in his office together is going to help that."

I bite my lip, hating the truth of her words because I have already thought these things.

"You know I wouldn't judge you. I mean, it's not like you guys met under normal circumstances. Plus, you are way more mature than most people our age."

I shake my head. "None of that matters. I just want to get through my senior year without ruining anybody's life and if he happens to be single when graduation comes around, fine. But otherwise, I am going to be good." I sound much more decisive than I feel, knowing the attraction I have for him.

Alice holds up her hands in surrender. "I'm here for you either way."

"Thank you. Sharpies, right?" I joke to relieve my own anxiety. At least I'll always have Alice.

She laughs. "Sharpies."

*V*V*V*V*

Study hall immediately follows lunch, meaning I bid Alice a hesitant farewell, promise to tell her everything afterwards, and wind back towards the English hallway where Edward's office is squirreled away.

The door is slightly adjacent when I arrive, but I knock anyway.

"Come in."

He looks calmer than when I last saw him, leaning back in his chair, twirling a black pen absentmindedly with one hand and resting his jaw on the other.

"Hey."

"Hey, have a seat."

I oblige, tucking my backpack underneath my legs and resting my unfinished brown bag lunch on my lap, hating the way the paper crumples noisily, drawing unwanted attention to me. I spent so much time talking to Alice that I didn't get to eat.

"So, I know you were the English assistant last year for Mr. Berty," Edward says, all business. "What were your responsibilities?"

"I helped with all the tutoring and if we didn't have anybody coming in during tutoring hours, I pretty much did secretarial work like photocopying stuff or filing. Otherwise, I helped him grade."

"He had you grading other students' papers?" He sounds a bit incredulous.

"Only if they were students that I had already tutored so I could get a feel for how they were doing on assignments. It's not like I decided the final grade or anything."

He nods. "Well, obviously, I'm still getting a handle on everything, but that arrangement sounds fine to me for now. Did you do after school hours with him?"

"We did two-thirty to four-thirty on Fridays." I forgot about the after school hours. I am going to be spending _so_ much time with this man.

"Just a second," he says, pulling out his phone and tapping the screen several times. "Ok, I don't have anything scheduled on Fridays yet, so we can keep those hours if that works for you."

"Yeah, that's fine."

"We'll start that next week then."

"Ok."

"Other than that, I think we'll figure it out as we go." His tone sounds like I'm dismissed, like he's expecting me to leave.

"Should I go then?"

"Aren't you supposed to be with me the whole period?"

"Yeah, I just . . . I didn't want to make you uncomfortable."

For a moment, I break through his wall of professionalism and I see that same scrutinizing expression.

"You're fine. You can work on homework or whatever you need to do."

Relieved, I ask, "Do you mind if I eat my lunch?"

He frowns. "Go ahead. Did you miss lunch?"

"Um, no, not exactly. I was just talking too much and didn't get a chance to eat it."

"Hmm," he hums at me. "What's for lunch?" I get the distinct impression that he is nervous and talking too much to cover it.

"Nothing fancy," I admit, pulling out my turkey sandwich, grapes, and pretzels.

"I guess this is technically my lunch hour, too," he mutters, as if just remembering.

"What's for lunch?" I repeat back at him, trying to make conversation. Maybe I'm nervous, too. Forget the maybe.

"Nothing. I didn't pack one."

Without thinking too hard about it, I toss my bag of pretzels onto his desk. "Here."

"That's ok, I really don't –," he begins.

"I wasn't going to eat them anyway," I lie.

The bag sits between us for a long moment, holding more weight than it should. But he makes up his mind and opens the bag, crunching down on one as he turns to his computer.

I bite into my sandwich and look around his office openly, examining the nooks and crannies I didn't notice before. His desk sits in the back left corner and a filing cabinet is squeezed into the back right, a large, leafy plant with hanging tendrils draped atop it. I wonder how long it will survive without any sunlight, though it does make the place more inviting. The back wall contains a narrow bookcase just small enough to fit between the desk and filing cabinet. The book titles range from education manuals to philosophical treatises to poetry, though some of the shelves are still unfilled. There are no personal pictures or accents, but I imagine anything hanging on the cinderblock walls would only make the space seem smaller.

"You literally have the smallest office in the entire building," I inform him.

He snorts, looking away from his screen. "I thought they were pulling a prank on me when they showed me."

"You know this used to be the custodial closet, right?"

"Wow, that explains a lot."

"You don't even have –"

"A window – I know. It's going to drive me crazy without the sunlight."

We're comrades.

"At least you don't have much of a tan to lose," I tease, testing the waters.

His eyebrows rise, both surprised and pleased. "Ok, Snow White."

"Hey, I have a _little_ bit of a tan."

He shakes his head, grinning. "No way. You don't even have tan lines."

We both pause at the realization of what he has said, our postures tensing again. Some part of me is thinking he must have paid incredible attention on Saturday to know I don't have tan lines. I didn't see enough of his body to remember how it looks – though I certainly remember how it felt.

"Shit," he sighs. "Sorry, it just sli—."

"Don't worry about it." I mean it. I try to ignore the fluttery feeling in my heart because _he remembers._

I want to reassure him further, try to revive the banter, but he is gone to me, studiously and definitively turned to his computer screen. I understand, but the bell signaling an end to our time together comes as a relief.

"Uh, thanks for the pretzels," he says softly. He's eaten the whole bag.

It's an olive branch, I think. "Any time. See you tomorrow."

"See you."

*V*V*V*V*V*

The rest of school passed in a blur because even after two days, I mark time around periods I spend with Edward. However, turning on my phone as I walked to the parking lot reminded me that I have other problems, too.

 _Can we talk? – Emmett_

I am still staring at my phone – I have been for the past fifteen minutes, sitting in my truck cab, unmoving. What am I supposed to say? If he wants to talk, he could have talked to me a month ago when I was begging him for an explanation.

 _What do you want? – B_

Immediately, my phone lights up with his call.

"Shit," I mutter to myself, letting it ring for a moment. Ugh, suck it up. "Hello?"

"Izzy?"

Fuck. His stupid nickname. I hate that I don't hate it.

"What do you want?"

"I just wanted to talk . . . you know, about what happened."

I'm clenching my steering wheel so tightly that my knuckle pops, though even the pressure in my hands is nothing compared to that of my gritted jaw. "Ok."

"I miss you."

Fuck.

"Emmett, I don't want to hear it."

"I freaked out, ok?" He sounds desperate, unusually serious for his jovial personality. "I was . . . I got scared of how I feel about you and I just started school and I was worried about . . . about being held back."

"And you don't think I could have handled hearing that a month ago? I knew it was a possibility you would want the freedom to go have a college experience without a high school, long distance girlfriend. I would have accepted that, but instead –."

"Izzy, I'm an idiot. You know that. I was a coward and ran away instead of making a commitment to you."

"I didn't ask you for some big commitment! You were the one that kept talking about our future together and how I could come visit you at college and what we would –." I cut myself off, tears stinging my eyes. Hearing his voice again, arguing with him is refreshing so many of the ugly, angry, hurt emotions I have repressed.

"I know and I meant all of that. I still do. I just got scared because . . . because of how much I love you, Izzy."

We haven't said those words to each other. I can hear in his tone that this is his linchpin, his way to win me back.

"You are way too late," I tell him, my voice quivering.

"I'm telling you the truth!"

"I believe you. But that doesn't change anything."

"Are you serious?" He's angry now, shocked that I'm spurning the monumental effort it took him to tell me how he feels.

"Yes."

"Great," he hisses, "so now what?"

"Like I said, nothing has changed. Just do college and date and –."

"And what? You'll just fuck the next guy that pays attention to you like I did? Or girl?" he adds, acidic. I've never heard him like this before.

The urge to punch him is immediate, intense. How dare he throw Alice in my face?

"You know what? It's none of your business! I can have sex with whomever I want!"

"None of them will be as good as I am."

I laugh. It's sarcastic and vitriolic, but I laugh. I want to hurt him. "They already are." Those few minutes making out with Edward were better than all the times with Emmett.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"I've moved on. That's what it means."

"You're seeing someone?"

Well, I wouldn't say that exactly. "Again, none of your business."

"Didn't take you too fucking long, did it?"

"And I suppose you have been completely celibate since we broke up?" With all those college girls around and his infectious smile? No way.

He's silent for a beat.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Don't call me again." I hang up and chuck my phone at the passenger seat in a huff, though it bounces to the floor.

It only takes half a second longer for me to start sobbing. My heart is pounding and I'm the worst mix of furious, self-righteous, guilty, and broken. I rest my forehead against the wheel, my shoulders hunched and quaking. Honestly, I just want my mom. I want her to hug me and tell me how much better I am than Emmett and that I don't need a stupid boy like him in my life because I am smart and I'm the student tutor for English and I have that internship at the printing house because I'm so accomplished and ready for college and I'm funny and don't I realize how popular I am?

A knock on my window startles me. Bolting upright, I want to die when I see who is peering into my truck.

Nonetheless, I roll down the window, wiping at my tears. "Hi, Edward."

He squints at me, but doesn't correct my usage of his first name. "I was just heading to my car and I saw you here. What's up?"

I shake my head. "Rough day, that's all."

"Is it . . . is it something I did?"

For a moment, he looks so unsure and incalculably sweet that I actually laugh – a genuine one this time. "No, nothing like that." The awkward encounter in his office feels like forever ago.

"Do you need anything?"

I think about kissing him and pulling him into my truck with me, but shake off the intrusive thought. I'm snotty and gross and we're in the school parking lot.

"I'll be fine. I just need to calm down a bit." In more ways than one.

From the floor, my phone starts to buzz loudly again. Even though the screen is facing down, I know it's Emmett.

"You need to answer that?"

"Not a chance." My tone is more cutting than necessary.

"Boyfriend?" he asks casually, but, of course, it's weightier than that.

"Ex," I say emphatically. Unable to help myself, I add reproachfully, "I didn't cheat, if that's what you're asking."

"Sorry." He doesn't deny the motivation behind his question.

Emboldened and far too reckless after my conversation with Emmett, I say, "I suppose I should thank you. I got to truthfully tell him I've had better – without naming names, of course." So much for being good. That objective lasted all of four hours. But I don't want to be good right now – not when I am feeling dangerously impulsive and emotionally volatile.

Edward chokes on his own saliva and I feel a flash of guilt.

"Well, see you tomorrow." Without waiting for him to speak again, I turn my truck on, avoiding eye contact and peeling out the parking lot.

When I glance back, he is still rooted in spot, watching me drive away.

*V*V*V*V*V*


	4. Consequences

*V*V*V*V*V*

"I can literally kill him. I've been watching a lot of crime shows. I think I could get away with it," Alice assures me the next morning before school. We're crammed into a loveseat in a corner of the library where I have been quietly explaining the events of yesterday.

"I thought about doing the same thing after I hung up on him. I just started crying in the parking lot."

"Oh, Bella," she whines, "I'm so sorry."

"It's ok. Besides, it didn't last long because guess who knocked on my window."

"No!" Her voice is too loud for the library and she leans in closer. "No!" she whispers.

"Yes," I confirm. "He asked me what was wrong and if it was his fault. He thought I was crying because of the tan line thing or something and then my phone started ringing again and he asked me if it was my boyfriend. I told him that Emmett was my ex-boyfriend and that I hadn't cheated or anything and then I thanked him for helping me honestly tell Emmett that I've had better."

"You did not!"

"I did," I admit, rolling my eyes. I'm still mortified at myself.

"Oh my god, I can't believe how bold you are now!"

"More like stupid."

She shakes her head vehemently. "Don't say that. He wants you."

I don't contradict her because, honestly, I think he does, too. But wanting doesn't mean anything will come of it. Nothing _should_ come of it, I remind myself.

"It doesn't matter. I need to stop acting like an idiot in front of him so I can survive the rest of the year without dying of embarrassment."

"Or just fuck him and get it over with," she mutters.

I shoot her a dirty look. "Stop."

"Fine, fine." Changing the subject, she asks, "Want to come with me to Volterra tomorrow? I'm meeting Jasper there when he gets off work."

Ah, her bartender. I forgot they were planning on meeting. Some friend I am. But going to the same club at the same time I am – or was – supposed to meet Edward sounds like a terrible idea. "I don't know," I hedge.

"Oh, come on," she prods, guessing at my hesitation. "It's not like he'll be there, right?"

"No, it just . . . I don't know, I'm worried it will be weird to be back there."

"Bellaaaaa," she sings at me pleadingly, "come onnnnn. We can dance and drink and have fun."

"What about Jasper? Are you sure you want a third wheel hanging around on your first date?"

"Depends," she says meaningfully, eyeing me. "Remember how we always said –," she begins.

"No," I say immediately. "I'm not trying to be a bitch, but I am just . . . god, after the week I've had . . ."  
Alice shakes her head, eyes wide. "Fuck, I'm sorry. Of course you don't want to. I just . . . I like the thought of it."

I do, too, honestly. Whenever we talked about it in the past, Alice and I were in agreement about the sexiness of the idea – getting to share each other and some attractive man. But after the Edward debacle . . . no. Just no.

"Does Jasper know how old you are?" I ask her, thinking of my own case of mistaken age with Edward.

Her face pinches and I already know the answer. "I haven't quite gotten to that part yet."

"Hey, god knows I'm not one to judge, but that's probably something he should know if you're serious about him."

"I know," she huffs. She doesn't want to hear it. "I'm going to tell him. I just wanted to wait until after our date so he could see how much chemistry we have before he gets scared off."

"Are you going to have sex with him?"

She shrugs, though the defensive set of her shoulders belies her shyness. "Maybe."

"Just, you know, don't make my mistake," I mumble.

"I just have this feeling that he's the one – like, for the rest of my life – and I know that's insane because I've only talked to him over the phone for a week and I'm eighteen, but I just _know_ and I was thinking that if it feels right to have sex on our first date, then so be it. I mean, I'm not planning on it, but, you know, if it happens . . ." She trails off, watching my face for a reaction.

She looks equal parts fierce and fragile. I wrap her in a hug. "Ok."

"Ok, you don't think I'm crazy or ok, you'll come with me to –?"

"Both," I interrupt, rolling my eyes. I've said my piece and it's not my place to make decisions for her – the best I can do is tag along and wish for the best.

"Really?" She looks so hopeful.

"Yes, really." And because we're hidden in the corner away from prying eyes, I press a kiss to her cheek. She smells familiar and sweet.

"Tease."

"You love it."

"I love it."

*V*V*V*V*V*

I knock. "Hey."

"Come in." He sounds terse. I'm not surprised. He barely made eye contact with me during English. Before I manage to sit down, he says, "I don't have any work for you today."

I shrug. "Ok."

He doesn't say anything further and doesn't look up from the paper he's writing on. Ice cold. I suppose these are the consequences for my thoughtlessness in the parking lot.

Sufficiently humbled by his demeanor, I take the hint and silently pull out my homework, though I can hardly focus. It feels ridiculous how much his mood affects me. However, after thirty minutes have passed, his posture is more relaxed and I decide to chance it before our time comes to an end.

"I'm sorry," I announce. My voice is jarring in our shoebox of silence. "I wasn't thinking very clearly yesterday and I shouldn't have –."

He holds up his hand to silence me which is as effective as him actually pinching my mouth shut. "Don't." He sounds exhausted. "Let's just . . . let's not."

"Ok," I say softly. My eyes are watering and I hate myself for being so sensitive. "Sorry," I say one more time because I can't help it.

He doesn't respond, turning back to his computer.

What was I even thinking yesterday? Why did I let Emmett get to me like that? Why did I say something so stupid? He's my teacher, for god's sake. What was I even hoping to get out telling him he's the best I've had? That he would kiss me and declare we should be together like fucking Romeo and Juliet? We'd be very bit as doomed as Romeo and Juliet.

The unbearable tension of existing in this tiny room, unspeaking and anxious, finally ends with the sound of the bell. I don't say a single word to him as I pack up my homework and rush out of his office.

*V*V*V*V*V*

By the time Saturday evening comes around, Alice has already vaguely told her parents that she _might_ be sleeping over at my house tonight in case she decides to stay at Jasper's; we practically live at each other's houses, so it's not like her parents will check up. But her careful alibi makes me think there is little chance she and I will be driving home together tonight.

"Do I look ok?" Alice asks me for the third time, smoothing down her cherry red dress with her free hand as we step out of her car. Right, I'm not the only anxious one. Of course, my anxiety has more to do with thinking this is a terrible idea rather than first date jitters.

"You look so hot. He's going to die," I assure her, linking my arm with hers as we flash our fake IDs at the bouncer. Instinctively, my eyes dart around the club looking for a redheaded man, though, of course, he's not here. But I promised myself I'm not thinking about him tonight.

"You think so? This push up bra doesn't look stupid?"

"Hot," I repeat decisively. "Come on, let's find your lover boy."

He isn't hard to spot. I didn't truly appreciate him before, but his blonde hair and bright blue eyes are dazzling – especially with the way they light up when he sees us. Even though the bar is packed, he steps through the gap to greet us. He hugs Alice first, lingering.

"I'm so glad you came," he yells over the music, grinning. "And, Bella, it's good to see you again." He greets me like an old friend, hugging me in turn, though more platonically. "Alice has told me a lot about you."

Something about him is innately easygoing and charming. Honestly, he reminds me of Emmett – especially with that wide smile – but I try not to think of him either.

"Good things, I hope," I tease because that's what you're supposed to say.

"Very good," he assures me. "I'm still working for another thirty minutes. Can I get you two something to drink? Whiskey sour, right?" he asks me.

Wow, I kind of love him already, relaxing at the idea of Alice going home with this guy. "You got it."

"And I know what you want," he says to Alice, winking.

She laughs and it's clearly a private joke, but I don't mind because she's blushing and happy.

"Ok, he's a keeper," I say in Alice's ear the second he leaves to move behind the bar again. My change of heart is so abrupt that I surprise myself, but I see what Alice means about just having a _feeling._ This guy is a good one.

"Tell me about it! Ugh, he's so hot I want to eat him."  
I just smile. I'm not as bummed as I thought I would be. Especially once Jasper hooks me up with a whiskey sour on the house. Man, I want to eat him, too – whatever that means.

We seat ourselves at the bar, nursing our drinks – I understand their joke when he serves her a Sex on the Beach, though she assures me it's a virgin one since she is the designated driver – and ogling Jasper as he works and interacts with customers. I bet he get a lot of tips with that pretty smile.

Every spare moment he has, he stands by our end of the bar, chatting us up and winking frequently. I find out he lives within walking distance of the club, is a recent English graduate from University of North Texas – which explains why I keep hearing a vaguely southern twang in his voice – and works for a printing company downtown during the day.

"Wait, which company?" I ask excitedly.

"Bedford Publishing House."

"Oh my god!" I exclaim. "I start my internship there in a few weeks!" What are the odds? What is it about that stupid club that makes this such a small world? Of course, even as I am amazed by the coincidence, it occurs to me that I might have to face this guy for every day of my internship. Shit, he is going to find out I'm not twenty-one.

"No kidding," he laughs. "What division?"

My misgivings increasing, I say, "Editing – not like I think they'll let me even breathe on a manuscript, but making their coffee and printing stuff is fine by me as long as I get to see how it all works."

"I know some people there. I bet I could pull some strings if you wanted to actually try your hand at editing." He sounds like he's holding back laughter, like he's teasing me somehow. I feel like he's just trying to impress me.

"That would be cool," I say noncommittally. "You know, Alice is a great writer." I turn the conversation back to her, not wanting her left out. This is her show, after all.

"Oh, really? You didn't tell me that, Ali. What do you write?"

Alice acts shy again, modestly describing her short stories, though she's cut short by Jasper having to tend to another customer.

By the time he brings me my third whiskey sour, I'm calling him cowboy and laughing at the boots sticking out from his jeans like he's a dear friend. To his credit, he is cheerful and good-natured, laughing along and calling me Jack for the type of whiskey in the drinks I'm slugging back.

I'm almost disappointed when his shift is over.

"So, ladies, what now?" he asks, stepping out from behind the bar.

"I'd like to see your apartment," Alice says without batting an eye. I guess that answers _that_ question.

"O-ok," Jasper says, both excited and taken aback by her forwardness. "And Bella, are you –?"

"I'm getting an Uber back," I assure him, raising my glass in toast. He's sweet to think of me when he's so close to getting laid. "Have fun, you two. Nice getting to know you, Jasper." We exchange a few more pleasantries, but Alice is practically dragging him out the door while shooting me apologetic glances. She's got it bad.

The second they're gone, I find myself deflating, listless. Without the distraction of my delightful banter with Jasper, my thoughts turn to Edward, darkening with confusing lust and guilt.

I empty the rest of my drink and decide to avoid lingering.

As I make my way to the exit and through the parking lot to wait for my ride home to arrive, I'm so lost in thought and flashbacks from my last time at Volterra that I almost don't notice the silver Volvo to my left. Even though I would like to pretend I didn't pay any attention to what car Edward drives, there is no mistaking his vehicle.

It can't be, I think as I approach.

But it's hard to convince myself I'm crazy when Edward Masen, in the flesh, is sitting at the wheel, head in hands. For a split second, I consider turning around, pretending I never saw him, preserving the awkward truce we have.

I consider it.

And then I knock at his window.

*V*V*V*V*V*


	5. Scene of the Crime

He flinches so badly that I feel guilty. When he realizes who is standing outside his window, his eyes get even wider. He hesitates before rolling down his window.

"Hey," he chokes out.

"Hey," I say back. What else can I say? There's no way it's a coincidence he's here on this day at this time – the exact time we decided to meet last week before we knew our true relationship to each other.

"I just was, uh . . . um," he struggles.

"In the neighborhood?" I prompt because it's the most ridiculous excuse I can think of. I'm almost enjoying myself.

He sighs, tugging at his hair. "I'm a fucking idiot."

Yes, but so am I. "Can I get in?"

He coughs. "What?"

You heard me, Masen. I make a show of hugging myself against the cold, pouting. Maybe it's the alcohol infused into my blood or Alice's hot date that highlights my loneliness, but how can I ignore this?

Again, he hesitates, but silently presses the unlock button.

Taking this as all the confirmation I will get, I shuffle to the passenger side, huddling into the warmth of his car.

"Hey," I say again. It's much quieter in here, muffling the sounds spilling out from the club, the atmosphere different.

"Hey," he repeats. We stare at each other a moment too long. "This is a terrible idea."

"Horrible," I agree.

And then we're kissing without pretensions of gentleness. His lips are mashing against mine painfully, fingers fumbling with the buttons of my coat. I am no better. My hands are instantly on his crotch, every bit as bold, if not bolder, than our first tryst, unzipping his pants.

Even as I feel up my English teacher in a public parking lot, I know I'm crazy. Not just for doing it, but for not caring about how insane it is. Still, I want him. And, if the fingers I feel aggressively creeping up my dress and shoving aside my thong are any indication, he wants me, too.

I'm so sensitive that I flinch when he finds my clit, circling it roughly with his thumb. A moan escapes my throat when he inserts a finger inside me. Fuck, he seems way too good at this – far too coordinated, too attuned to the sensations I like, too aware of my body. It was never like this with Emmett. What makes Edward so different? Am I just a danger junkie?

Like he's heard my thoughts, he says in a husky voice, "So I'm the best you've ever had, huh?"

"Mmhmm," I moan.

"Even just making out did it for you, huh? Tell me," he orders.

Fuck, he's hot. "It was just – ah, right there – it was so intense. And you were kissing my neck. I have a thing about – oh, god – about my neck."

"I saw that goddamned hickey on your neck all week and it drove me fucking insane," he hisses in my ear, fingering me harder. "All I thought about was the way you moaned – kind of like you're moaning now – when I bit you there. Or when I bit you here," he adds, using his free hand to pinch my nipple. "You know how hard I get thinking about these piercings?"

I just moan in response because he's driving me wild, telling me all the things I didn't know I wanted to hear. It's the most I've heard him say at one time, like he's been holding all of it back, finally able to confess his sexual thoughts.

We go on for a while with him rubbing my clit and me stroking him over his boxer briefs, but the feeling is almost too much for me with how sensitive I am. I pull at his forearm so he knows to withdraw his hand and then shift in my seat, turning my body towards him and eyeing the fabric that still covers him.

I pause for a moment, asking for some kind of permission.

Languidly, he brings his finger – _that_ finger – to his mouth and sucks, tasting me. "You're so sweet."

Embarrassed, I duck my head without comment, tugging at his briefs. I barely take time to admire his dick once I free it from its constraints before my mouth is around him, his tip hitting my throat as I abruptly surround him. He's bigger than Emmett, I think errantly. Not longer, at least not by much, but wider.

"Fuuuuck," he groans slowly, hand on the back of my head, fisting my hair.

I hungrily engulf him over and over, liking the rough feeling of it, the desperation. How can I want him this much after everything that's happened tonight?

"Fuck, wait." The hand that was pushing me further down his shaft is now pulling me away. "You're going to make me come."

Damn right, I am.

I ignore him pulling my hair, tightening my lips around him even further, obstinately continuing in the unrelenting rhythm of plunging his cock into my mouth. After a few seconds, he stops trying to remove my ministrations, surrendering.

It doesn't take long. Soon, I hear his strained grunt and taste the salty evidence of his orgasm. Swallowing and delicately lapping at his sensitive head, he shudders before I sit up, brushing back my hair and glancing out the windows to make sure no one saw us. A bit late to check, but oh well.

He looks drained – pretty literally, I suppose. His eyelids are heavy and he's winded, staring at me with disbelief, amazement, and satisfaction.

"Fuck," he says again with a noisy exhale, tucking himself back into his pants. I take it as a compliment. "That didn't last long."

I suppose not, though it felt longer – maybe I'm just really good at giving head. "That's for the best considering where we are," I say.

His eyes widen slightly and he looks around like he's just remembered. "Good point."

My phone buzzes loudly where I discarded it on Edward's dashboard, lighting up with a text. I know it's my ride home without looking. I've taken too long.

"I have to go," I admit sheepishly. I guess I'm Blow-And-Bolt Bella.

"Bella," he breathes, at a loss.

"I know," I whisper.

"If this got out –."

I don't let him finish his sentence. He doesn't need to. "Hey, look at me," I order, staring him down with earnestness. "I am not stupid. I will not do anything to get you in trouble or put you at risk – blowjobs in public parking lots aside," I add as an afterthought because the irony does not escape me.

"You never act your age. Do you know that? It drives me crazy."

"Why?"

"Because it makes it harder to treat you like everybody else. I just wish . . . if you were older, I would ask you on a date."

I don't know how to respond. So it's ok to let me blow him, but not ask me on a date? It's not even like I asked him for a date or expected it of him. Really, I don't know what I expect of him now. Our situation is so hopeless and tangled. I knew that even before I had his dick in my mouth, but my head is clearing.

"I'm not older, though," I acknowledge calmly. "I'm seventeen and there's nothing I can do to change that."

"I know."

"I'm not looking for a relationship from you, Edward. I know that's impossible – at least for now."

"So what are you looking for?" Is he hopeful or anxious? I can't tell.

"I think that's something you need to decide," I say softly. "I want you and I fantasize about you, but you're the one with everything to lose. Nobody on the outside looking in is going to blame me for any of this." I hate the words even as I say them because it's fucked up when we both have pursued each other in turns, but I know the judgments of predator and pedophile will fall on his head.

"You really do act older than your age," he remarks to himself.

But not old enough to know better, I muse.

"I need to go," I repeat, "but I'll understand and try to respect your decision either way." It's not what I imagined as my parting line to him after rounding third base, but I get out of his car anyway without glancing back.

*V*V*V*V*V*


	6. Ditto

*V*V*V*V*V*

"And then he did this _thing_ with his tongue," Alice sighs dreamily over the phone the next afternoon. She's been reliving every highlight of her first time with Jasper with disconcerting accuracy for the past half hour, squealing occasionally. I squeal, too. It _does_ sound pretty incredible. Mostly, I'm relieved to not feel so anxious about her decisions – because I have more than enough anxiety with my own issues.

"Alice," I interrupt. I can't keep it in any longer. "I need to tell you something."

Even though we're only speaking over the phone, she says, "He was there, wasn't he?"

Fuck, it's scary how she does that sometimes. "I saw him parked outside after you guys left."

"Oh my god, what did you do?!"

"I . . . uh, I kind of got into his car and gave him a blowjob and –."

"What the fuck, Bella? _Why are you just telling me this now?!_ " Her voice soars over at least two octaves, making me cringe.

"I didn't want to ruin your night and, honestly, it didn't end well and I didn't want to think too much about it."

"Holy shit, this is crazy!" she exclaims. "What happened?"

"He got worried that it would get out and I told him I wouldn't say anything – except to you, obviously. He said something about taking me on a date if I was older, but I told him I didn't really expect much from him and that it was his choice to make if he wanted to continue our . . . _relationship_ , I guess. Then I left."

"I can't believe how calm you sound."

I shrug even though she can't see me. "I don't know if I've really processed it all yet. I mean, the first time with him, I didn't know who he was or anything. It was stupid anyway because of _course_ he thought I was older, but I didn't know the teacher part. This time . . . I mean, fuck, we both know better. There's just no way this is going to end well."

"Bella, you're not a slut. That's a stupid label anyway because people just don't like the thought of women making sexual choices. Besides, I was the one that asked you to have sex with Jasper. And with Mr. Masen – sorry, with _Edward_ – you guys just have crazy chemistry. And he's the one that's supposed to be the responsible adult, right? But he's the one that showed up at Volterra. There's no way he wasn't trying to get with you."

"That doesn't mean I had to let him finger me in a parking lot," I groan.

"You know what? He is a grown man. He can decide if he wants to be with you – if that's what you want, I mean. And you're past the legal age of consent anyway. You are an adult – or close enough to one – and you can make your own decisions, too." She sounds so definitive, so confident in simplifying everything. Even if she's overlooking the issue of him being my teacher, let alone god knows how many years older, I do feel better.

"I really don't know what he's going to decide, though. He looked so conflicted." The image of his haunted face as I closed the car door comes to mind.

"Well, I guess you'll find out tomorrow, right?"

"I guess."

*V*V*V*V*V*

I'm thirty minutes early to school when I make my way to the deserted English hallway. I couldn't stand to pace around my kitchen any longer, replaying yesterday's events over and over again in my head. I barely slept, torn between lust and anxiety. It doesn't seem to be an uncommon combination for me these days.

Edward's office door is ajar when I round the corner, fluorescent light pouring out. My knees feel weak, but I take a deep, steadying breath and knock.

"Shut the door after you," he says in a gravelly voice. He knows it's me.

I step inside, shaking from the anticipation as I close us in. But for all my apprehension and sleeplessness, Edward looks far worse with dark circles under his eyes and hair that's messier than usual. I only had one sleepless night – he looks like he hasn't slept since I last saw him. My guilt response is immediate. I caused this, I think, though it's not entirely true. Alice had a point – he drove there to meet me.

Without thought, I hand him my thermos of coffee. "Here, I haven't had any of it yet." Not that sharing germs would be a big deal after Saturday night.

He's so tired that he doesn't fight me, sipping from it without vacillation. "You take it black, huh?"

I shrug. We ran out of creamer.

He snorts and drinks again.

I don't know what else to do with my nervous energy, so I set down my backpack and sit adjacent in the spare chair, perched on the edge of the seat, waiting for him to speak. However, he is not forthcoming. He alternatively makes piercing, pained eye contact with me or looks away, drinking from my thermos.

Finally, I can't stand it. "I need you to tell me what I'm pretty sure I already know."

He sighs. "I'm trying, but it's much harder to say everything I planned now that you're in front of me."

"You don't have to worry about my feelings, ok? I'm a big girl."

He mutters something under his breath that I can't hear before tugging at his hair. "This can't go on," he says without inflection. "Someone will find out sooner or later. And even if we managed to keep it a secret, I'm eight years older than you are." Ah, so he's twenty-five, older than I thought. "We're in such different points of our lives right now and –."

"You don't want to hold me back," I finish for him tonelessly. His reasoning does not surprise me, but it's amazing how much it hurts. "I understand. Really, I do."

He sighs. "I know you do. That makes this all more difficult."

"I wanted to tell you I'm sorry again – for putting you in this position and –."

"Stop," he commands curtly. "Stop apologizing. I put myself in this position and I'm the one that's supposed to not prey on –."

"You didn't prey on me," I interrupt hotly, surprising him - and myself - with my vehemence. "I made my own choices and I was – and am – perfectly capable of making them, ok? I don't regret anything aside from all the stress this has caused."

"I wish I regretted it more," he mutters, shaking his head.

My heart swells, but I swallow it down. "So, are we going to pretend it never happened? I mean, is that what you want?"

"I think that would be for the best, yes." He says it, but he sounds hollow, like a robot is speaking through him.

"Ok," I agree, feeling equally as devoid. "But I'm sorry in advance if I say something stupid."

A ghost of a smile visits his lips. "Ditto."

Even though there is still plenty of time before class starts, I make my excuses about homework and leave his office. On an impulse, I head towards the guidance center.

*V*V*V*V*V*

"I dropped his class," I say to Alice by way of greeting when I see her at lunch.

"It went that badly?"

"No, but I decided that would be easier. Just seeing how miserable he was . . . I don't know, I don't want to be around him longer than I have to – for both our sakes. He gave me a little speech about our age difference and how we can't go on like this. It sucked. Besides, it eases my conscience a bit to know he's not assigning me grades anymore."

"Does he know you dropped?"

"I'm sure he figured it out this morning, but I haven't told him directly, no."

"Don't you see him next period?"

"Yeah, that's when we meet for my student assistantship."

"Good luck."

"I'll need it," I sigh. "But enough about my drama. Have you heard from Jasper?"

Her whole face changes and she lights up with a shy smile. "We talked last night for three hours."

"Wow. How are you feeling about . . . you know, everything?" I ask pointedly.

"It was incredible," she says sincerely. "He loved it and I loved it. And I'm so happy you guys get along because you're my best friend and I'm definitely going to marry him someday."

"You love him, huh?" I'm teasing her more than anything because I'm not shocked by the admission. It sounds like Alice. It's like how we became friends. She had a "feeling" about me, decided we would be best friends, and then stuck with me without question, completely dedicated.

"I do. So much," she swoons.

Happy as I am for the look of ecstasy on her face, a troubling thought occurs to me. "You need to tell him how old we are before I start my internship. He's going to know I'm in high school once I start working there."

"Ok," she says so calmly that I wonder if she understands the gravity of the situation. "I know he will be upset at first, but everything will be ok."

Though I envy her tranquil certainty, I don't voice my concerns because at least one of us is feeling positive. "Well, let me know how it goes."

"As long as you let me know how your tutoring period goes."

*V*V*V*V*V*

"Hey." I shouldn't be this nervous. Everything is already said and done.

"You dropped my class," he accuses sharply, a vein throbbing in his forehead. Fucking Marko.

"I just thought it would be better," I say softly. I feel ashamed now that I'm looking at him, like I've let him down. "You were so stressed out and I just thought that having to grade my stuff like I'm any other person would be –."

"You know what? Forget it."

The words are a slap in the face and a cutting reminder that _it never happened._ I bend my head low over my homework so he can't see my face.

The rest of our time together passes in stiff silence and I can't get to my feet fast enough when I hear the bell ring.

"Wait," he calls. I don't know what I expect when I turn around, but it's not him holding out the thermos I lent him, watching me warily. "Don't forget this."

"Oh, thanks."

"I'm sorry I drank all of it."

"It's ok. You needed it." I reach for it, but our fingers touch. It shouldn't be that impactful to graze someone's fingers, but I am mesmerized.

Edward does not pull away immediately, but lets our fingertips hold contact for a moment. "I'm sorry," he says again. He lets his hand fall and I know he is not apologizing for the coffee.

*V*V*V*V*V*

There are two coffee cups on his desk when I return the next day.

He pushes one towards me. "I had to repay you for drinking all of yours yesterday." He sounds uncertain, but I can read him well enough now.

He's apologizing for all the craziness and this is the olive branch. We don't have to be miserable stuck in this office together. We can be friendly.

"Thanks," I say, drinking from it to show my acceptance. "Although," I add, a smile curling at my lips, "you should bring cream and sugar next time because I don't always take it black."

He rolls his eyes at me and smiles at my joke.

All will be well.

*V*V*V*V*V*


	7. Bedford

*V*V*V*V*V*

The better part of three weeks passes in the same fashion. We take turns bringing each other coffee and cracking jokes, talking with more ease each day. He now has a stash of individual creamer and sugar packets he stole from a Starbucks in his top right drawer – just for me since he drinks his coffee black.

I find out Edward's a major nerd hiding beneath a model exterior; he's into Star Wars and cinematography and comic books and Jodorowsky (I had to look him up), though he goes kayaking for fun and drools over the new line of Tesla cars. I find him compelling, particularly when his inherently soft-spoken tone is occasionally replaced by his brash wit. Even our first Friday afterschool session for tutoring was comfortable – fun, actually – although no one showed up for our expert services. Instead, we took turns picking out songs while we worked. He introduced me to some Radiohead and I played Bon Iver for him.

Although I can't forget for one moment how attracted to him I feel, there is a great deal of relief in being able to relax a bit. Ever since we decided – or he decided, rather – to not pursue a relationship or at least some kind of sexual contact, it has eased our interactions. Still, there are moments where I catch his stare and feel something more than platonic, where I accidentally brush against him and get a swooping sensation in my stomach, where I think too hard about how well we get along and wonder how different everything would be if I was a little older. No, my feelings for him are not gone, but at least I can function around him now.

My other big anxiety is Emmett. He calls every day now. He texted me an incredibly long message a few days after his first phone call explaining how sorry he was and that he still loved me. I haven't responded to anything he sent despite his assurances that he will find a weekend to come visit me, but it weighs on me every day. Overall, I feel justified in not reviving our relationship after he tossed me aside and then basically called me easy when I didn't take him back immediately, but part of me can't help but remember how effortless it was to be with him. I chalk that up to sexual frustration, though.

Otherwise, my excitement grows about starting my internship at Bedford Publishing. The thought of getting to be amongst all those editors and books appeals to me greatly. Of course, that enthusiasm turns to angst when Alice drops the bomb on me in her room.

"I haven't told him yet," she admits, clutching a stuffed teddy bear to her chest.

"Oh my god, Alice! I start my internship tomorrow morning!"

She twists the bear's arm at an alarming angle, hunching her shoulders to make herself smaller. "I know, I know," she groans. "I just got so nervous."

"It's only going to be worse the longer you wait to tell him. And if I run into him at the office and someone _happens_ to mention that I'm the high school intern instead of the college intern, he's going to flip out."

"Fuck, I know. I just kept telling myself it was going to be fine and it wouldn't matter, but I kept not telling him and it just got harder and harder."

"You have to do it tonight," I say sharply. "Believe me, I feel for you especially given everything with Edward, but you can't put this off any longer."

Her eyes shine with tears. "What if he breaks up with me?"

"How could he? You're his future wife," I say gently, trying to lighten the mood.

She snorts, but a smile pulls at her face. "I really do think he's the one."

"Then you need to be honest with him and trust that everything will work out."

She sniffles once and then exhales noisily, her face hardening into determination. "Ok, I'll do it."

"Do you want me to stay?"

"No, it's late already and you have to get up early. Besides, I think I need to do this on my own."

I squeeze her hand. "Just remember that I'll still marry you if we're both single at thirty-five."

She laughs more loudly this time and blows me a kiss.

*V*V*V*V*V*

The next morning, I wake up at six, leave at seven, and arrive in Port Angeles by eight o'clock at Bedford Publishing House. The building is smaller than I thought it would be and infinitely cozier with warm lighting and bookshelves in the lobby.

I approach the young, blonde receptionist. She's dressed impeccably and her face has the expression of professional aptitude, but she looks younger than I am, like they found a business-formal thirteen-year-old off the street and gave her a job.

"Hi, my name is Isabella Swan and I'm here for –," I begin saying.

"Yes, you're here for the internship," she says brusquely, but not impolitely. "I just need you to fill out some paperwork and then I will direct you to your work station."

She hands me a clipboard with insurance forms, W2 papers, and a waiver about workplace conduct. I settle on one of the couches that is even more comfortable than it looks and make marks on every page before handing it back.

"Perfect, let me show you around," the receptionist says, standing up, though she can't be over five feet tall. "My name is Jane, by the way."

"Hi, Jane, I'm –."

"Isabella, I know."

I don't correct her that I like to be called Bella, meekly following along behind her as she points out different areas of the first floor.

"There are six floors. The first floor is reception and HR; the second floor is legal and sales; third is marketing and design; fourth is finance and accounting; fifth is editing; sixth is publishing. There's a break room on floors two through five, but you're mostly going to be on the fifth. Initially, you were going to be shadowing with the fiction editing department, but you got switched over to non-fiction for some reason," she says, mild annoyance on her face.

I know exactly why. I guess Jasper wasn't kidding about pulling strings around here, though I'm still anxious about seeing him. I woke up to a short text from Alice saying that Jasper was not happy at first, but they are still together – no further details. Although that was my primary concern, I still worry about how he will react to seeing me.

"Any questions?"

"Um, no, I guess not right now."

"Ok, take the elevator to the fifth floor and ask for James. He'll show you the rest."

So much for a big tour. But I follow instructions and am surprised by how many people are immediately in my line of sight when the elevator doors open. I guess I was expecting cubicles, but they have an open office with groups of people sitting around different glass tables, looking at book cover designs and working at computer stations.

"Hey, Jack," I hear from my left. It's hard to describe how relieved I am when I see the easy smile on his face. He looks tired, but not angry. Thank god.

"Hey, cowboy," I say shyly.

"Ready for your first day?"

"Um, sort of. I don't really know what I'm supposed to do yet except for finding someone named James."

Jasper clicks his tongue. "No need. I'll show you around. Besides, we should talk first."

I cringe. I guess I'm not off the hook after all. He leads me directly to what I assume is his office, though he seems too young to have a corner office with great views. Alice told me Jasper's dad was some bigwig here or runs it or something, so he probably got the benefit of favoritism. It makes me wonder why the hell he bartends on weekends.

He doesn't hesitate to address the big issue. "I guess I should thank you. Alice told me you were the one that pushed her to finally come clean." He sounds matter-of-fact and his eyes are kind.

"I suppose. I think she would have eventually. She just got nervous that you would break up with her over the age difference."

He sighs. "Obviously, the high school part is not ideal and will probably turn heads, but being four years apart is not the worst thing ever. Nobody will give a shit once she's in college."

Oh, I could kiss him. "I am _so_ relieved. You guys really are so good together. Alice talks about you all the time."

His effortless smile is back, lighting up his eyes. "Yeah?"

" _All. The. Time._ "

"Yeah, she does talk a lot," he jokes, smiling wider. "It's hard for me to get a word in sometimes."

I smirk. "That sounds like Alice."

He clears his throat. "Um, speaking of Alice, I wanted to talk to you about that."

This piques my interest. "Really?"

"I'm kind of your supervisor now, so we should probably avoid showing too much familiarity at work." God, he is blushing so hard.

"Of course," I say easily. "I won't spill the beans to anybody."

With the relief palpable on his face, he says, "Thanks, Jack. Come on, I'll introduce you to the gang."

The gang is made up of six people, seven including Jasper.

"Guys, this is Bella Swan. She's our new intern and she's really interested in getting a feel for the whole editing process. Bella, meet Laurent, James, Victoria, Demitri, Alec, and Chelsea."

I forget their names almost immediately, but they all greet me and ask me a few questions. My eye is drawn to the tall redhead – Victoria, I think? – with wild curls and a mischievous smile because there's something appealing about her.

"Man, you're going to have a blast. Between making the coffee, getting people food, and filing shit, it's really a nonstop party," she teases.

"Well, my motto has always been to mix business with pleasure," I joke, causing everyone to chuckle.

Victoria laughs loudest – a nice, throaty laugh that flashes her straight, white teeth. "Oh, I like this one. Let's keep her." She winks at me and I feel a tug of attraction. Jesus, what is with me today? I wonder if my hormones are making me insane, but she's quite pretty, twenty-three at most.

"That's the plan," Jasper says. "Ok, get back to work and I'll show Bella around."

They go back to their computers and Jasper escorts me around the _play pen_ as they call it, telling me about my new company login, where the printer is, where the break room is, how to file certain folders. Honestly, none of it sounds too daunting, but Jasper promises he'll let me hang out in some editing meetings.

"I won't lie, you're going to be making a shit ton of coffee for people and filing their shit like Tori said, but it's going to be fun once you get closer to people."

"This is great," I say sincerely. "Thanks for getting me into your section of editing."

"No problem."

We part ways and he leaves me at a computer station, asking me to make more coffee when it's empty and practice editing a writing sample.

My whole day passes as Jasper predicts with occasional refilling of the coffee pot, filing, some work in Excel, and editing practice, but I like the vibe here. Some of the editing team talk to me when I pass by.

Victoria's desk is right by the coffee maker and she twirls in her chair every time I make more, engaging me in conversation.

I find out she is, in fact, twenty-four and she went to Loyola University in Chicago for theatre, but wound up in editing instead. "It was a crazy ride here," she tells me, laughing like she's recollecting something particularly sentimental. "I followed my boyfriend out here and he dumped me two weeks after I moved across the country."

"Oh my god," I say, leaning in. She twirls one strand of her wild hair around a finger as she talks. I'm enraptured by the movement. "That's so awful."

She shrugs. "Yeah, I did consider burning his apartment down, but mostly I got drunk for a week straight and then pulled myself together and found a job as a receptionist for a bit."

"How did you end up here?"

"Well, the receptionist job fucking sucked because people suck, but my boss was completely incompetent and needed me to edit literally every single memo, email, or letter that went out. After doing that for a year, I figured I had enough experience that I could interview for something like this and they were insane enough to hire me."

"And they've regretted it ever since," the huge guy with shoulder-length, dark hair yells from three rows over. He looks like he belongs in a gym beating up a punching bag rather than fastidiously typing at a computer.

"Not as much as they regret hiring your Russian ass, Demetri," she flings back, though he has no accent.

"They don't mind when I bring the good vodka to the office parties."

She laughs. "I still haven't forgiven you for last year. That was the worst hangover I've ever had."

"Then don't pound back shots like a wannabe Russian next week."

They continue to joke from across their spaced out desks, but I really have no reason to continue standing there seeing as the coffee is done, though I find myself smiling along with them. "I better get back to work," I say apologetically, excusing myself.

"Well, come hang out in the cool corner whenever you want. Interning can get boring, so I will be happy to host procrastination parties."

I grin at her. They're just cool. Everybody here seems cool.

I get back to my filing, but the day ends shortly after. I'm in the middle of an Excel spreadsheet when Jasper taps on my shoulder.

"Hey, Jack. It's quittin' time."

"Oh, wow, already?" I glance around to find most people have already cleared out.

"I know, time flies when you're having fun," he jokes.

"I did have fun," I protest. "Everybody was super nice to me – especially Tori."

He laughs knowingly. "Watch out for her. She swings both ways."

"Damn, now I _definitely_ have a crush on her."

Although I expect this comment to surprise him, he just smiles – Alice must have told him about our past. "As your supervisor, I have to tell you that relationships with coworkers are discouraged." All the seriousness of his words is drowned out by his smirk.

And because no one is close enough to hear, I joke, "Dude, don't be a fucking cockblock."

His eyes go wide at my bold raillery – perhaps he puts me a little _too_ at ease, but it's hard to take his authority seriously when I've heard his penis described in graphic detail– but his smile widens. "You're going to be a problem, aren't you?"

"I'll be good," I promise, packing up my few belongings. "Well," I add as an afterthought, "not _too_ good, but you know what I mean."

He just shakes his head, amused. "When do I see you again?"

"I work from four to eight on Mondays and Wednesdays. And eight to four on Saturdays, obviously."

"Drive home safely. Try not cause a sexual harassment lawsuit on the way out."

I stand, laughing a bit too hard. He has no idea how close to the mark he is. "That's the best advice I've heard all week."

*V*V*V*V*V*


	8. Wait

**It has been suggested to me to that I write an author's note explaining what happened with this story. I took it down briefly because I made some last minute edits and uploaded the wrong version, so it was easier to just take it down than individually change out the chapters. Sorry for the confusion, but it's back!**

 **I'm so appreciative of everyone that reads and reviews. It makes the writing process worth it to hear your comments, critiques, and reactions.**

*V*V*V*V*V*

I call Alice on my drive home from work and she answers on the first ring.

"Hey, how did it go? How was Jasper?"

"Everything went pretty well. He showed me around the editing department and introduced me to everybody. I mostly just made coffee, but I like the people there so far."

"He wasn't acting weird or anything, was he?"

"No, not at all. He did pull me into his office to talk first, but he said he thought four years wasn't a bad gap and that no one would care once you're in college."

"Oh, Jazzy," she sighs. "I knew everything would be ok. I love him so much."

"You should have seen the look on his face when he was talking about you. He's so into you."

"Did he say anything else?"

"Oh," I laugh, remembering, "yeah, he did. He asked if we could not appear too familiar at work since he's my supervisor. But we were joking around at the end of the day and I could see us being good friends."

"Really?" she asks, sounding excited at the prospect. "I was worried it would be weird because I told him about us before you even met."

"Yeah, I figured," I say sourly. "A little warning would have been nice, you know."

"Sorry!" I can practically hear her cringing over the phone.

"Does he know all of it?"

"Yeah, but he mostly seemed turned on by it, honestly. We haven't really talked about it since I realized you guys work at the same place."

Jesus. "Ugh, that is so embarrassing."

"You're embarrassed by me?"

"Oh, stop," I scoff. "You know it's not about you. He's my boss. I mean, I want to be friends with him and joke around and stuff, but it's different to joke about that than for him to explicitly know I've had sex with his girlfriend."

"He really is fine with it," she assures me quickly. "I promise. He's really laidback about everything."

Managing to contain my gut reaction, we talk at more length about my work day and about my mini-crush on Victoria, but soon enough I arrive home and hang up.

My mom has prepared dinner for me when I arrive, eager to talk about my first day. She's bursting with pride, but she usually is where I'm concerned. My mom is a little scattered and prone to depression, but she has always been supportive of me and down to earth.

"Oh my gosh, tell me everything! How was it, baby?" She sounds so young, unusually chipper today.

"Oh, you know, lots of coffee and filing, but everyone is super nice," I repeat pretty much exactly what I told Alice, minus the dirty details. "My supervisor said I could sit in on some editing meetings and learn more about the process if I wanted."

"That's fantastic! I mean, really, this seems like such a good opportunity for you. And you look so professional! I'm just glad you found something you like. You've been moping around the house for the past few weeks."

Moping sounds a bit harsh – especially coming from her – but if only she knew the cause of that sour mood. "I've just been adjusting to the workload for school. I told you I dropped one of my AP classes, right?"

"No, you didn't," she says, concerned. "Which one?"

"English. I figure I will be fine to take the AP exam on my own and this has reduced a lot of my homework." True, I dropped it to limit my contact with Edward, but it's also true that I cut back on about an hour of homework every night.

"Oh, honey, are you sure that was a good idea?"

"Don't worry, Mom. I will be fine. I mean, if my job at school is to help other people write papers and my internship is editing, I feel like I'm covered, you know?"

She shakes her head. "You're right. I've never had to worry about you." I try not to look too guilty given my hobbies as of late. "Tell me about how tutoring is going instead. You haven't talked about that much."

"It's fine. We've had a few people trickle in, but hardly anybody for the most part."

"That happened last year, though, didn't it? It takes people a while to realize when they need help."

"Yeah, it did. I mostly just do homework or file stuff."

"Jeez, between your new internship and Mr. Berty, you're doing a lot of filing."

"Yeah," I laugh nervously, not correcting her about Berty because I feel like talking about Edward at all will give me away. "Well, thanks for dinner, Mom, but I have some homework to get done."

"Do you want to work down here? I was going to finish knitting a few rows on that blanket, so I won't distract you, but it would be nice just to sit together." Her tone is just desperate enough that I halt my kneejerk, polite refusal. She misses me. I suppose we hardly see each other now that school has started. She never wakes up before I leave for school and usually sleeps at weird times in the evening when her depression is worse. But maybe I've been unwittingly distant as well with all of my own drama, not wanting to upset her.

"Of course, Mama."

*V*V*V*V*V*

On Monday, Edward and I wind up with four thermoses of coffee.

"I thought it was my turn to bring the coffee," I say the second I see the cup waiting by my seat.

"No, you brought some Friday morning."

"But you made me some coffee for tutoring hours on Friday."

He frowns. "Shit, I forgot about that."

"Ha!" I set down my extra thermos in front of him triumphantly.

He's amused by my childishness, offering me a smile. "What are we going to do with all the extra coffee?"

"Donate it to orphans?" I offer.

He snorts at me. "Guess I'm drinking two cups today."

We fall into our pattern of work with Edward softly playing music on shuffle from his computer, occasionally speaking, though not really maintaining a conversation. Partway through, I finish my coffee and reach for the second thermos; Edward wordlessly hands me two cups of creamer and one sugar packet from his drawer, just how I like it.

I am stunned for a moment even though it's such a small thing for him to remember my preferences. He sees my face and offers a sheepish smile. I wonder if I'm a little bit in love with him.

Suddenly, my phone buzzes loudly in my pocket and I realize I forgot to turn it off. "Sorry," I apologize, pulling it out.

It's Emmett calling. Again.

"Fuck you," I say to the sight of his name, hitting ignore and shutting off my phone.

Edward eyes me with open curiosity. "Wow."

I sigh. "Sorry, it's just that he calls me every single day and can't take the hint."

"I assume this is your ex-boyfriend?"

"Yes."

"He sounds like an asshole." I like how freely he swears in front of me – though I guess I just dropped the f-bomb.

I shrug. "Not entirely. We didn't date very long, but he was fun. Easy to get along with, very outgoing. But once it was time for college, he dumped me pretty abruptly. Then he decided he dumped me because he was scared of how much he loves me," I say without hiding my irritation. "I didn't take him back and he's been pretty persistent since then."

"Hmm, he'll catch on eventually."

"Maybe," I sigh. "I just don't want to deal with him anymore. I would have been fine if he had just told me he didn't want to be weighed down with a long distance relationship, but he didn't tell me he was in love with me until he wanted something from me." I don't know why I'm telling him all this, but I find it spilling out.

"Just keep in mind that boys your age take a while to mature and you are already more mature than a lot of people your age."

I don't like this wise mentor role on him – not directed towards me anyway. "No wonder I'm into older men," I mutter on purpose, knowing it will make him uncomfortable.

He stiffens, but lets the comment pass.

When I hear another ring tone go off, I think for half a second that I managed to turn on my ringer instead of turning off my phone, but Edward is the one grabbing at his pockets this time.

"Sorry," he mumbles. To my surprise, he answers, "Hey, is everything ok?" He pauses for a second, listening. I can hear a female voice on the other end, but can't make out the words. "Sorry, now's not a good time. I'm with a student and . . . no, I haven't forgotten . . . of course, I will. You know I . . . no, not now." He sounds exasperated and fond at the same time. "Ok, see you then . . . I'm looking forward to it, too . . . ok, bye."

Even though I have done so well in not making things too uncomfortable between us and controlling my impulses, I can't help myself. "Was that your girlfriend?"

He doesn't say anything, but his mouth tightens, avoiding my gaze and confirming my fears.

My brain runs wild with irrational anger and hurt, wondering how long he's been with her, how it started, how old she is, if he loves her, if he cheated on her with me, why he answered that call in front of me, if he wants me to know so I leave him alone. It feels like I've been punched in the chest. I know I don't have a right to be this upset because he's a grown man allowed to date a woman his own age, but I realize I have always hoped we would wait for each other. It sounds stupid to even think it because why the hell would I be worth waiting for – some teenage girl that's barely even an adult and still has years of college ahead of her – but still, my stupid heart got ahead of itself. I really felt like we had a connection. Hell, maybe we do, but that doesn't mean it's enough.

We don't speak for the rest of the period, a far cry from the easy conversation we've maintained for a few weeks. I promise myself that I will be perfectly professional and pulled together tomorrow, but right now, I am sulking, biting my lip, refusing to drink any more from the coffee thermos he brought for me, and avoiding his eyes. When the bell rings, we don't bother saying goodbye to each other.

*V*V*V*V*V*

 **Thoughts? What are you enjoying about this story? What are you hating?**


	9. Mistaken Identity

*V*V*V*V*V*

"Hey, Bellalicious," Victoria calls when she sees me arrive for work. "Want to earn your slave wages today?"

"Gee, you know me so well already," I say dryly.

She laughs. "Yeah, this is going to suck, but I have a fuckload of paper files that we're transferring to digital. I pretty much need you to scan stuff." She gestures to a monumentally large stack of paper folders that, despite being set on the floor, reaches the height of her desk. Seeing my face, she adds, "Don't worry. You don't have to do all of this today."

She hands me about a quarter of it – which is still a huge amount – and gives me some instructions about how to scan and where to send the documents. With that, I make my way to the photocopier closet and begin my task.

It's incredibly boring to scan every single page into a massive digital file, repetitively opening a folder, removing a paper, placing a paper, closing the photocopier lid, hitting scan, opening the lid, placing the paper in recycle, and repeating.

An hour into my four hour shift here, Victoria comes to check on me.

"Do you hate me yet?" she asks, propping open the door and leaning with her hip. Her pose strikes me as flirtatious somehow.

"Only a little," I tease. "Don't worry, I figured I would be doing this kind of stuff most of the time."

"Well, if you want to take a break, we're all meeting to talk about a new editing project if you feel like joining us."

I unceremoniously close the photocopier and drop the file I'm working on back on the pile. "Thank god."

She laughs and beckons me to follow her. I take a seat beside her at a massive mahogany table, Jasper to my left and the rest of the team shuffling into seats. Everybody has laptops out and pads of paper, so I feel a little empty-handed, but Victoria gives me my own lined paper and a pen with a wink, reassuringly squeezing my arm and lingering a second too long.

"How's your day going?" Jasper asks before the meeting starts.

"I am an expert in the art of digital scanning now," I say, deadpan.

Victoria snorts and winks again. She sure winks a lot.

I try winking back at her and squeezing her arm like she squeezed mine, her smile widening even though I feel silly.

"Ok, everybody, let's get going on this. I know we've talked about this before, but we're planning on opening up publication acceptance to history books now." Jasper talks everyone through the kind of changes that would make for the division of labor and project management, but a lot of it goes over my head. There is lots of talk about co-op spaces, galleys, and indemnity. It all sounds very official and I begin to grasp the fuller realm of intricacies involved in publishing. I mean, I knew it wasn't just correcting comma splices 24/7, but I'm impressed by how much thought goes into a new project.

When the meeting is over and everyone scatters back to their desks, Jasper asks, "You don't want to quit yet, right?"

"That was fascinating."

"It's more fun when we actually have a manuscript to pick over, but I think that gives you a good gauge of what all goes on here."

A blonde man – James, if I remember correctly – sidles over to us. "Hey, new girl, I was wondering –."

"Her name is Bella," Jasper corrects more sternly than I think is necessary.

"Bella," James says, "would you mind doing a dinner run?"

"Sure," I agree easily because anything is better than standing at that photocopier. "What do you want?"

"There's a sandwich shop right across the street. Can you grab me a Coke and a roasted chicken sandwich? And grab yourself something, too, if you feel like it."

"Oh, that's ok. I packed some food," I assure him as he hands me a twenty. "I'll be back in a bit."

Jasper gives me a look that makes me think he doesn't approve for some reason, but hey, I'm the intern. This is what I do.

I'm surprised how dark it already is when I go outside, though it's only six o'clock. I make my way across the street to the sandwich shop, immediately overwhelmed by the smell of fresh bread; I make a mental note to buy a sandwich here on Wednesday.

Queuing up at the end of the long line – I guess this place is super popular – I find myself behind someone that reminds me of Jasper. I only see him in profile, but his light blonde hair and blue eyes are a perfect match. He can't be that much older than Jasper, though. He looks to be in his late twenties or early thirties at most, though the suit makes him look more distinguished.

I am not sneaky enough in my perusal because he notices me looking and smiles, facing me more directly. Wow. This is a beautiful man. Piercing blue, kind eyes and a strong jaw.

"Um, any recommendations?" I ask out of sheer nerves, fully aware I sound like an idiot. "I've never been here before."

He smirks, but looks up at the menu. "I'm a fan of the roast beef sandwich myself."

"I'll have to give that a try."

He takes pity on me, carrying on our conversation. "I can't believe you've never been to Porter's before."

"I just started working in the city," I explain. "I haven't had the chance yet."

"It's all about the bread," he says conspiratorially, leaning in and pointing out the loaves stacked behind the glass counter. "They bake it fresh every morning and every batch is mixed in store."

"Wow, no wonder it's so crowded here."

"It's a true Washington delicacy," he confirms. "But if you're new to Port Angeles, I also recommend Alfie's about two blocks from here. They have incredible soup – especially during the winter months when you need to be warmed up."

"That sounds great."

"I know plenty of restaurants – especially the romantic ones if you're looking for a place to take a partner."

Is this even real life? His suggestion and inherent query is so transparent – and yet perfectly polite and somehow genuine – that I actually laugh. "No, no boyfriend, but, man, you need to work on that line."

His gorgeous smile widens. "Sorry, couldn't help myself. I'm Carlisle."

"Isabella," I say. I don't know why I give him my full name – maybe I'm trying to sound more mature because there's no way this guy isn't at _least_ ten years older than I am.

"Well, Isabella, they say the best way to experience a new place is through the food."

"Hmmm," I acknowledge. "Where should I start?"

"There's Madam Leonne's that does Creole food, Onesta that serves the best pancakes I've ever eaten, or," he adds, "they just opened up a new club called Volterra if you're looking for some fancy cocktails."

"I've been there, actually," I laugh. Boy, have I been there.

"Oh, really? My son works there."

I do a double take because this man does not look anywhere near old enough to have a son capable of bartending and because it suddenly occurs to me that his resemblance to Jasper is not a coincidence.

"Oh my god," I breathe.

"What's wrong?"

"Carlisle _Cullen_?" I ask with wide eyes.

Now it's his turn to look startled. "Have we met?"

"Um, no," I laugh, "but I definitely know your son. He's my boss." And fucking my best friend, but that's hardly polite conversation. "Actually, I suppose you're even more my boss than he is," I mumble, recalling his bigwig status. Alice is going to die when I tell her I accidentally flirted with Jasper's dad – if I don't die from embarrassment sooner.

His eyes narrow thoughtfully, like he's trying to place me. "New intern?" he guesses.

"Yeah, I just started." My heart is beating so fast that I feel my ears going red.

"I'm so sorry. The comment I made . . . I, uh . . . I didn't know, obviously." He stutters like his son.

His nervousness and familiar bearing put me at ease. He's just as sheepish as I am. "No problem. You were only giving me restaurant suggestions," I assure him, though we both know otherwise. "We'll just start again?" I offer, holding my hand aloft.

Concern subsiding, he grips it and I find his palm surprisingly warm. "I appreciate that. I'm Carlisle Cullen," he says, offering me an award-winning, toothpaste commercial kind of smile. I actually swoon a little, though I sternly remind myself this guy must be in his forties if he has a twenty-two year old son – and he's the owner and CEO of the company.

"Isabella Swan. Nice to meet you."

"Agreed. I have to apologize we haven't met until now. I usually make sure to meet every new employee and eat a meal with them, but it's been a busy few weeks."

"Well, now I know plenty of good places to eat," I joke.

"Very true," he says, shaking his head with a smile. "I suppose there's no time like the present. Would you like to sit and eat together for your dinner break?" he offers, heartbreakingly charming. I'm impressed by how easily he has switched from flirtatious, older man to easygoing boss.

It actually pains me to say no because there is something pure and inviting about him, like his own goodness is leaking out. Perhaps my gut reaction of liking him is so strong because he reminds me of Jasper's laidback vibe – it helps that he is incredibly attractive. "I'm actually just grabbing a sandwich for someone else right now, but maybe another time?"

"Of course." Carlisle smiles broadly once more, turning to the cashier as the time comes for him to order. Once he finishes paying for his roast beef sandwich, he steps aside, but is clearly waiting for me.

I order James' sandwich and drink, keeping the receipt and the change to return to him.

"Well, it was nice to meet you, Isabella," he says with genuine warmth. It's hard to believe this guy is a corporate shark. "I'll make sure you get an invite to one of the lunch events we do."

"Thank you, that sounds great. Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Cullen."

He laughs. "Just Carlisle."

For some reason, this makes me blush. "Nice to meet you, Carlisle."

Smiling, he offers me a wave as I depart with James' food. I try to walk evenly, but the adrenaline hype of trying to maintain a cool head makes it difficult to casually stroll back to the office.

On the fifth floor, I find James and deliver his food and change. "Thanks, new g – Bella."

"No problem." I start to leave because I want a few moments alone in my copy closet to collect myself, but he wants to talk.

"So you're, what? Twenty-two? Twenty-three?"

"I turn eighteen on the thirteenth."

He immediately leans back, eyes wide. "Oh, wow. You look way older. I thought you had graduated college already. I mean, we have a _ton_ of high school interns from all over the state – like, literally fifty high schools – but they usually come during summer."

I shrug. "It just worked out with my schedule to do it this school year."

"Huh, I never would have guessed. Well, you seem to fit in well here. Tori is already in love with you."

"Man, I could do with a little less love since she's having me scan all day," I joke.

He laughs. "Hey, it's worth sucking up. I'm sure if you play your cards right, you could line yourself up a college internship or a job."'

"I would love to work somewhere like here," I admit. "There's a really friendly atmosphere." And hot bosses all around.

"Hey, if you want a _really_ friendly atmosphere, you should come to the office party on Friday. Interns aren't usually invited, but it would be awesome if you came. We play games and drink."

Um, he did hear the part where I'm not of legal age to drink yet, right? "It's this Friday? What time?"

"It starts at five." He seems eager and earnest.

Shoot, I have my afterschool tutoring session with Edward then. I wonder if he would let me cancel or leave early. "That sounds cool. I'll try to be there."

"Awesome."

"Well, I better get back to work. I hope your sandwich is good."

"Porter's is always awesome."

"That's what I've been told," I say with a secret smile.

"Thanks again."

"You're welcome." I excuse myself back into my closet of photocopy hell and go back to the grind.

Just before I'm due to leave, Jasper comes to check on me.

"Hey, Jack, how's it going in here?"

"Am I allowed to complain to my boss?" I joke.

"I don't know, I might have to route you through HR," he says with mock thoughtfulness. "But seriously, is everything going ok?"

"Yes," I assure him. "You don't have to worry over me. I'm fine. It's a paid internship, so it's not like I can complain."

"Um, I've seen what we pay you, so yes you can."  
I laugh. "You have a point. Maybe I'll bring up my wages with your father," I tease.

His eyebrows pull together, not understanding my joke or perhaps thinking I'm making fun of his nepotistic advantage.

"Guess who I ran into at Porter's."

His expression clears, easing back into his default smile. "My illustrious father, I presume."

"Carlisle Cullen himself," I confirm. "You look a lot like him."

"Yeah, I get that a lot. Did he offer to eat with you?" he asks knowingly. I want to make a joke about him seeming more interested in eating _me_ before he learned of my employment status, but I am still too disconcerted.

"Yeah," I laugh. "Is that a thing with him?"

"He even made _me_ eat lunch with him when I started because he's so anal about sitting down for a meal with _every single employee._ "

"I think that's a nice gesture. It makes him seem very approachable."

Jasper rolls his eyes; he probably gets sick of hearing about how wonderful his doppelganger is. "So you're coming to the office party," he says, changing the topic.

"Oh, wow, that got around fast."

He shrugs. "We don't have much to talk about. You're hot news right now."

"Is it ok if I come? James said interns usually don't go."

"You're fine. I would just be careful because people tend to get pretty drunk at this thing. But I was thinking of inviting Alice to sort of officially introduce her as my girlfriend."

"Oh, really? She'll love that. Now I definitely want to go. I just have to double check that I can get out of an afterschool thing."

He shakes his head. "God, I keep forgetting you're in high school."

"It's probably my stunning maturity," I quip sarcastically.

"Or because I _illegally_ served you alcoholic drinks," he points out, narrowing his eyes.

I smile sheepishly. "Yeah, sorry about that. Your girlfriend was the one to supply the fake IDs, though." Good to know I'm not above throwing her under the bus.

"She told me. Still, though," he says, rolling his eyes. Luckily, he seems more amused than anything. "Have I mentioned you're trouble?"

"Once or twice."

*V*V*V*V*V*


	10. Small World

*V*V*V*V*V*

"Do you think I could pass for twenty-two?" Alice asks me, critiquing her appearance in the visor mirror of her Porsche, plumping up her cleavage.

"Closer to twenty," I say diplomatically, though even that is generous. She's so petite and elfin that she probably won't look twenty-two even when she _is_ twenty-two.

She huffs out a breath. "Good enough. I'm just worried about meeting his dad."

"It's going to be fine. Carlisle is cool just like Jasper," I assure her. "Oh, and I want to introduce you to Tori, too."

"Oh, yeah, I'm curious about her. She sounds super hot."

"She is. It's a little intimidating honestly, but she's pretty laidback."

"You're not going to replace me, are you?" she teases me.

I laugh. "Only if she offers."

She rolls her eyes at me. "So fickle."

"You know I love you best." I'm just joking anyway. I've already promised myself to not flirt with Tori anymore. I've been down the too-old-for-me road before – let alone the inappropriateness of her being a coworker.

"I love you best, too, Jelly Belly. You ready?" Alice asks. Her eyes are a little wide with nerves, but I know Carlisle will love her. Who wouldn't love Alice?

"Yeah, come on."

We step out of the car and cross the street into the double doors of Bedford Publishing. Jane is not at her usual post at reception, but they did close early today.

Alice and I get on the elevator, giving each other a final onceover before the doors open on the sixth floor. I've never been up to the sixth floor before, but it is packed with people, most of whom I don't recognize.

"Jasper said he would be by the drinks," Alice tells me. "He probably wants to show off his bartending skills."

Luckily, we can practically smell our way to the alcohol. Dozens of bottles are set up on a banquet table where people are pouring their own concoctions. I even spot the fancy bottle of Russian vodka Demetri has bragged about for days.

"Over there," Alice says, pointing out the corner just a bit further from the table. Jasper is waving at us, dressed in jeans and a button down. He looks delicious.

Between the loud music and the crowded floor, I'm reminded of Volterra for a moment, though somehow the club seems tamer than the possibility of work associates getting wasted together; even though we're only half an hour late, it's clear that a large portion of the crowd is already inebriated.

"Perfect timing," Jasper says as we push our way through. "Alice, I want to introduce you to my family. I think they're over there." He points across the room, but I can't tell through all the people crammed into this space.

Alice gives him a look. "You said it was just your dad."

"My brothers showed up, too," he says with an apologetic shrug.

"Oh my god, Jazzy."

I sympathetically squeeze her hand. "Should I just meet you back here?" Really, I'm a chicken shit and lose my nerve to face Carlisle again.

"No, I want to introduce you, too. You're my favorite intern, after all," he jokes.

I roll my eyes at him. "I'm your only intern, jerk." In truth, I think he just wants me there as a buffer in case his family does not appreciate him dating a high school student. I can certainly empathize.

"That doesn't mean it's not true." He grins at me and gestures for us to follow him, ducking back into the crowd.

I hear him say, "Hey, guys, this is my girlfriend, Alice, and my favorite intern, Bella," and then I break through the crowd to the small circle of Jasper's family, fixing my eyes upon his father and brothers.

When I see who waits for me, I skid to a stop, almost falling over.

I _expect_ to see Carlisle with his gleaming blonde hair and perfect smile.

I _don't_ expect to see Edward and Emmett staring at me with equal amounts of surprise – though neither of their faces compare to my deer-in-headlights shock.

"Alice and Bella, this is my dad, Carlisle, and my brothers, Edward and Emmett."

Carlisle says something apologetic about not having taken me to eat yet, but I barely hear him.

In unison, Edward and Emmett ask me, "What are you doing here?" and then look at each other with confusion, wondering why the other asked.

I think I'm going to vomit.

Alice, at the very least, understands the mortification seizing my chest. She's met Emmett and lord knows she's familiar with Edward.

"How do you guys know Bella?" Jasper asks, so clueless.

Emmett speaks first. "This is Izzy," he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. I look at Edward, Carlisle, and Jasper in quick succession, seeing that Emmett's nickname for me registers with familiarity.

Carlisle's smile vanishes abruptly. "Your _high school_ girlfriend?"

"Well," Emmett sighs, scratching the back of his head and looking at me wistfully, "we're not together anymore. I didn't know you worked here, Izzy."

I don't respond because my mouth is wide open and not currently functioning.

Jasper, who has paled slighlty, asks, "Edward, how do you know Bella?"

"She and Alice are students where I teach," he says tightly. "I didn't know she worked here, either. Or that she was Emmett's ex-girlfriend." He sounds accusatory, his voice hard.

"Oh, shit," Jasper mutters, looking at Alice with wide eyes and then back at Edward. "I thought you taught at Clallum Bay."

"I _live_ near Clallum Bay; I don't _teach_ in Clallum Bay." Edward's face is a mask without discernible emotion.

"Shit," Jasper says again. "I'm an idiot."

I want to comfort Alice because she is clearly horrified, but I'm incapable, still frozen in shock.

"Wait a minute," Emmett says, beginning to laugh. "Your girlfriend is Izzy's best friend? Her _very best friend_?"

Of course, Edward and Carlisle don't understand his tone, but I have never regretted telling him about having sex with Alice more than I do in this very moment.

Jasper's jaw clenches.

"Yeah, she's my best friend," Alice says with as much charm as she can muster, though her eyes are narrowed in warning. She has never liked Emmett.

"And you're both Edward's students?" Emmett asks, still grinning.

"I don't teach either one of them, but they go to Forks," Edward answers flatly. His hands are clenched at his sides.

Emmett guffaws. "Oh my god, that's hilarious. Edward, I thought you taught near Clallum Bay, too or I would have warned you to look out for these troublemakers." Edward coughs uncomfortably, but Emmett's attention wanders back to me, smirking. "So you've had my brother as a teacher this whole time? And now you work for my other brother and my dad?"

"I'm not her teacher," Edward repeats, jaw muscles tensing.

I can't do more than nod even though I want to deck Emmett.

"Jesus, what a small world," he laughs.

Say it again, I think. What the fuck is going on? Why are all the pieces of my life colliding so catastrophically?

"Wait, did you know any of us were related?" Emmett asks.

I shake my head emphatically, making eye contact with each of them individually to emphasize my point.

"Why do you all have different last names?" Alice demands. A very good question that didn't even occur to me.

Carlisle intercepts this time. "Edward was born before his mother and I married, so he has her last name. Jasper was born after we were married, so he has my last name. After Elizabeth passed away, I married Emmett's mother, but we divorced quickly, so he has her last name," he says robotically, like it's an explanation he's had to give often, though there's an edge to his voice.

Edward Masen, Jasper Cullen, and Emmett McCarty. At least Emmett is only their half-brother, I think for a second – like that is any better. But how could I have known they were related? That is a truth I need to cling to, I realize. I didn't know. I had no idea. I never would have . . . god, the thought of what I've . . . holy fuck. It occurs to me that literally every single human being I've had any kind of sexual contact with is standing before me at the office party from hell. And most of them are related.

"I need a drink," I announce abruptly.

"You're not old enough," Edward says first.

I shoot him a dark look and head towards the drink table anyway, pouring myself a whiskey sour that's more whiskey than lemonade; my hands are shaking so badly that I drip booze everywhere. I bring my cup to my lips and don't lower it until all of its contents are burning down my throat, immediately mixing myself another.

"Stop." It's Edward, putting his hand over mine to make me set down my new drink.

"I mean this in the most polite way possible, but fuck off," I tell him, yanking my hand – and the whiskey sour – away from his grasp.

"You're mad at _me_?"

"No, I'm just having a mental breakdown and don't want to be interrupted."

"You really didn't know?"

" _No_ ," I growl. "Do you think I'm fucking insane?"

"Edward!" a voice squeals. None other than Tori wraps her arms around Edward from behind, laughing in his ear. She's clearly drunk and giggly.

I raise my eyebrows, but when Edward puts an arm around her in turn, I realize that not only is the world small, it's fucking microscopic.

"Oh, good! You've met Bella! She's my favorite intern! Bella, this is Edward."

I don't even feel shock anymore. I tilt my cup up to my lips and finish it in a few swallows, wincing at the burn. Edward narrows his eyes at me, but I hold out my hand to him. "Nice to meet you, Edward."

He follows along, shaking my hand, squeezing tightly in warning.

I don't know what to say, so I just stare at her, dumbfounded. Then I stare at the both of them together, twenty-four and twenty-five with different shades of red hair, both sexy and intimidating with careers ahead of them. How perfect for them.

"Bella, I _love_ your hair tonight," Tori squeals, lurching forward to finger my locks. "But you look so hot all the time!" God, she is toasted.

"Oookay," Edward says tightly, pulling her back. "That's enough."

"Awww," she whines, "she has nice hair, though. And you did mention something about getting turned on by long, dark –."

"Tori, stop talking," he orders, turning an impressive shade of red. He blushes like Jasper, I think numbly – of course he does; they're related. "I'm taking you home."

For some reason, despite the incredible amount of stress I am under – or perhaps because of it – I start laughing. Tori is the last straw, really. Because what else could happen tonight to make things even more awkward? Everything feels surreal for a moment and I pour myself more whiskey with a splash of lemonade.

"Stop," he repeats with more venom in his tone than last time.

" _Mental breakdown_ ," I mouth at him, though I sip from my cup instead of chugging it this time.

He gives me a hard, searching look before exhaling and helping Tori stumble to an exit despite her protests that she doesn't want to leave yet.

"Nice to meet you, Edward," I call because I'm a bitch.

He doesn't turn around, though I see his shoulders stiffen.

Unfortunately, my liver is beginning to realize the reckless amount of alcohol I've consumed and I sway on my feet for a moment, deciding to stagger in the direction I last saw Alice. I need Alice.

Strong arms lock around me, preventing me from landing face first. "Whoa, there, Izzy. Been hitting the booze hard, huh?"

Of course it's Emmett. Who else would it be? They're coming in waves, I swear to god. "Let me go. I need Alice."

"She's over there with Jasper." He jerks his head in the opposite direction I was heading. "Are you ok?"

"No," I say honestly.

"Yeah, I probably would be freaked out, too, if I found we all were related."

God, how little he knows. "I need Alice," I repeat.

"Ok, let me help you."

I don't protest because I think my body is actually shutting down – though the shock might be more to blame than the alcohol. Emmett essentially carries me over to Alice and Jasper who are clearly in the middle of an argument.

"Bella," Alice cries when she catches sight of me, "are you ok?"

"She's had a lot to drink," Emmett explains for me, propping me up. My feet feel weird.

"I want to go home," I say. I feel myself falling again, but my eyes shut and everything goes black.

*V*V*V*V*V*


	11. The Other Side of the Fence

**Hi, all. I've had numerous requests and questions about Edward's experience in all this. I thought that after such a big reveal, we could step back a bit through his eyes.**

*V*V*V*V*V*

Isabella Swan fell into my life. Or maybe I fell into hers – considering she knocked me over. Part of me still hates her for it.

It's not like I was trying to get laid that night. Honestly, I was just checking that club out to see what Jasper's new job was like even if I didn't approve. Although I perfectly understand wanting to make a living outside of our successful father's shadow, a part time bartending gig seemed like a stupid idea compared to his respectable editorial position. Still, he bothered me for a week straight and, with my summer freedom dwindling before I was due to start my new job, I took him up on it.

So there I was, sober by choice, not a huge fan of dancing, without a date, and barely able to talk to Jasper anyway because of how busy it was. I was heading for the exit when Isabella Swan ruined my life.

She fell into me – onto me, really – and bashed my face along the way. At first the pain was so bad that I barely noticed her. But she dragged me with her and, despite my surliness and resolve to leave this place with a brave face, she broke me. She made me laugh. We joked. We danced. God, did we dance. There was this look on her face that was elemental somehow. I think I loved her a little even then.

Before I knew it, she was whisking me away to privacy. And I wanted it so badly. Even though I had just hooked up with Tori again the day before, there was this hunger in me like I hadn't been around a woman for months. Maybe it was the pierced nipples. I'd never seen that in person before and it was exotic enough – paired with her bold hands – that I think I would have fucked her in that bathroom, communicable diseases be damned, if her annoying friend hadn't interrupted.

But she gave me promises of next week and I let it go. I knew I'd see her again, even as I kicked myself for not getting her number. Jasper gave me shit for the bruise forming on my face, but I hardly felt it by then. It wasn't an ideal look to start school with, but I hoped it would at least bolster my reputation as someone to not be fucked with.

The few days following our chance encounter, I spent my days in Teacher Institute meetings, playing stupid fucking ice breakers with other teachers, going over the lesson plans I'd already memorized, listening to pointless pep talks. It wasn't as if I lacked excitement for this new job – honestly, the pay was better than I hoped and the location wasn't awful – but I'd already been down this road. I lasted at my first job for two years before they announced department cuts, deciding not to hire me back. It was shitty as a brand new teacher when I had just been starting to find my footing, but the Forks position opened up shortly after and I took it. The whole place – the whole town, as a matter of fact – felt too small for me when I was used to Seattle's hustle and bustle, but nothing compared to my claustrophobia-inducing office. Still, it was a job and I was lucky to have even that. Besides, I had the weekend to look forward to.

When it was time for my first class, I was nervous because every school has a different vibe depending on the students. But I hardly had time to worry about such trivialities.

Because there was Bella.

She was wide-eyed and sinking into her desk, bundled into a hoodie.

Looking back on it, it came to me far too quickly that she had lied about her age. Of course she was too good to be true. It's probably my proudest teaching moment that I continued on with the class without having a mental breakdown despite the absolute shitstorm of horrendous possibilities that could befall me. Her friend – Alice, my roster said – knew already. Between two teenage girls that probably wouldn't be able to keep their mouths shut, what were the chances of me escaping this fiasco with my job? I pictured hellfire and jail time and sexual predator registries. I was going to end up on some Dateline episode.

But she apologized the second class was over, clearly distraught, telling me she would keep it a secret. And despite her thoughtlessly parading as a twenty-one-year-old, I trusted her. Something about her was genuine enough that I actually _thanked_ her and felt a degree of my anxiety ease. Stupidly.

The moment she left, I pulled her student file. Straight A's, honors student, no detentions, no father's name listed – I wondered if he wasn't in the picture – though her mother's name glared at me. Renee Swan. The woman that would probably end my life. And then I saw the true cherry on top. Dear Isabella was the student tutor.

I thought about handing in my resignation right then and cutting my losses. Sure, I would have to live off of my trust fund for a year, but better than being labeled a sexual predator. Better than being reminded of the blade hanging over my neck for forty-five minutes every single day.

When Mr. Marko in the guidance department emailed me that Bella was wanting to drop my course for fear of academic hardship – yeah, right – my first thought was _thank fucking god._ I didn't want to see her anyway. Surely the more distance the better. But when I went home that night – to the same bed where I unknowingly masturbated for three straight days to the thought of my goddamn student – the guilt hit me. I thought about what kind of teacher I wanted to be. If I really wanted to prove to myself that I was better than some scum that fantasizes about his underage pupils, then maybe I could redeem myself by sacrificing my own sense of security for her education.

Looking back, it was a stupid line of thought, but I was out of my goddamn mind by that point. I didn't want to fail this girl or myself.

So I confronted her and she fucking lost it. Like, hysterically laughing, ready to be carted off to the insane asylum kind of lost it. By the time she calmed down in my office, I was feeling like an epic asshole. It wasn't like she did this on purpose, I reminded myself. She was obviously feeling guilty and terrible about the whole situation, too.

And then I saw the hickey on her neck. Bam. Dick hard enough to cut diamonds. I still feel like a sick fuck about it. It's hard to explain – like seeing her being emotionally mature at the same time that I noticed a physical reminder of what we did . . . it just blurred her age in my head. She didn't fit in the "student" box. I'm not saying that makes my attraction to her morally acceptable, but it happened.

In my defense, I tried to treat her like anybody else after that. I tried to just focus on our tutoring relationship, but she went along with it so easily that I relaxed too much. We started joking around – the way I would try to establish repartee with any other student – and I let the tan line comment slip out. I didn't even mean to bring it up – it's not like we needed any reminders – but there it was, evidence of my gutter mind.

When I found her bawling her eyes out in the parking lot after school, I immediately assumed it was because of me and my foolishness. She was going to report me, get me fired, and blame all of this trauma on her perverted English teacher. But it was something about an ex-boyfriend, completely unrelated to me because she did have a life. I _hated_ the thought of her with someone else. The sheer intensity of my reaction surprised me, but I felt it anyway, clawing at my chest, snarling for this girl's body, her blood, her very soul. I had to remind myself sharply that I had no right to her, that I would probably go to fucking jail or at the very least lose the right to teach ever again. Who was I judge how emotionally mature she was? I'm sure pedophiles rationalize away such things, too.

I was almost sobered up from my flash of jealousy when she told me I was the best she'd ever had. That was the moment I knew I was well and truly fucked. At that point, I did not think of it as me being a fucking pervert to some innocent high school student; she wanted me, too. Not exactly defensible in court, but there it was. It drove me fucking wild.

That night, I looked myself in the mirror for a long time, trying to decide what to do with myself. Acting on my impulses was not an option – that didn't take much thought at all. I debated everything from quitting, turning myself in, asking Mr. Berty to take over tutoring even though it would be a breach of contract, or acting like everything was normal.

I didn't do any of those things. I decided I would continue on teaching and tutoring, but Isabella Swan would be held at arm's length. Maybe intentionally being an asshole would distance us enough to make things easier. It wasn't an inviting prospect, but it seemed a safer option than jail.

The one failure of my plan was that I did not expect to care about her feelings so much. Despite shutting down any attempts to apologize or talk about the craziness of our situation, all I could think about was how miserable she looked stuck in my office – how I caused that. I consoled myself that it would get easier as the school year wore on. We were only in our first few days of classes and as long as I maintained aloof professionalism, I felt more confident about surviving my contractual obligations.

That weekend, Jasper offered to hang out after he finished working on Saturday and I knew the distraction would be better than moping about a fucking teenager. He gave me shit about my mood, but didn't ask much beyond checking in about my first few days of class. He talked a little bit about some girl he was supposed to meet, but I had difficulty listening when my own troubles weighed on me so heavily. Then we watched some football preseason game that I barely paid attention to before it was time for him to start bartending again.

I told him I was going to head back to Clallum Bay. Hell, I even started driving. But I saw Volterra out of the corner of my eye and found myself turning into the parking lot like some kind of magnetic force was pulling me in. It wasn't like I even thought she'd be there. It felt more like I was returning to the scene of the crime to truly rake myself over the coals and reflect on how shitty the past week had been.

Who knows how long I sat there, not daring to go inside, before she knocked at my window. It was like seeing the fucking ghost of Christmas past, there to remind me of my sins. But she wanted to get inside my car.

And I let her. Because I'm a fucking idiot. I had my hand up her skirt in less than thirty seconds, spewing out all kinds of dirty, nasty shit about the hickey on her neck, her piercings, how sweet she tastes – because I'm a fucking idiot. It came pouring out of me from places of madness I unsuccessfully tried to keep locked away. Because, and I repeat, I'm a fucking idiot.

The truth was that, seventeen or not, student or not, I liked her. More than liked her. My dick couldn't tell the difference. When she started blowing me, it _certainly_ had no qualms about her age. All it knew was that her hot mouth and tongue were _way_ too good at this. I barely enjoyed coming because the second I looked in her eyes, I saw the face of a woman I wanted to be with and get to know rather than a young girl that I should stay the fuck away from at all costs. And to make it all worse, she was mature about it, understanding perfectly, as drawn into our orbit as I was.

That was the night I realized I was in love with Isabella Swan. I don't say that lightly. We'd known each other a week at that point. We'd had very little contact. I knew almost nothing about her – not any of the details you're supposed to know, anyway. I didn't know where she wanted to go to college, what her favorite food was, if she liked her showers at morning or night, what her family was like. But I knew she was brave and mature and emotionally aware and . . . well, it felt a lot like love. More like love than the two times I'd been in love prior – like something had reached into my being and twisted it all up. My father always told me that he fell in love with my mother at first sight, so maybe a week was conservative by some standards.

Either way, I was basically fucked. That's the moral of the story. Edward Masen meets girl, nearly bangs girl, finds out girl is his student, nearly bangs girl again anyway, and unwisely falls in love. There was a choice to be made between selfishness and selflessness at that point. Did I pursue her despite the risk to both of our reputations or did I make the ironclad dedication to my willpower to leave her alone? It shouldn't have been hard to make that choice, but it was.

When she sat in front of me again a few days later, I could barely speak to get the words out. Words I didn't want to say and didn't want to believe. She was kind to me anyway. She understood. She gave me her coffee. She listened. I thought all would be well.

The next thing I knew, Mr. Marko from the guidance department was telling me she dropped my class. It was a kick to the stomach. I should have been grateful – it would have made keeping our distance that much easier – but it ripped at me. The truth is that I didn't want her to go. I didn't want her to sacrifice her education just because of me. It played on every insecurity I had about failing as a teacher and being the fucking pervert that made her uncomfortable.

I'm not proud of my reaction. I snapped at her when I saw her again, then told her to forget it when she tried to defend herself. It was petty, but all I saw in that moment was a beautiful girl telling me why I had failed.

I brought her coffee the next day to apologize for being a miserly, old bastard. No, I never said the words, but the gesture was important. And maybe she agreed because the smile that lit up her face was stunning. We reached some kind of understanding then – to be friendly without overstepping further boundaries. I joked with her more freely and shared more of myself than I would have amongst another student, but it was surprisingly easy.

Sick as it was, I started to think of our time together as mini-dates. She showed up, we took turns treating each other to coffee, we made jokes, asked each other questions, and then we parted. It was like the first few dates most couples go on at the very beginning when there is sexual tension, but little expectation of sexual contact; the goal is just getting to know each other to see if it's a good fit. That's what it was like with Isabella, though it only told me what I already knew – we _were_ a good fit.

She could quote whole stanzas of poems. She had incredibly insightful comments to make when editing other students' papers. When she really laughed, her nose wrinkled in a way that made me smile in turn. Though she didn't enjoy talking about politics, she was far more informed than I was at her age. She hated the Star Wars prequels with as much passion as I did.

I found myself brainstorming the least perverted options for asking her out once she graduated and then immediately scolding myself afterwards, thinking that if I really loved her, I would let her live her life like any other normal teenager. Like I said, I was fucked.

It was a few weeks into the school year that Tori reached out to me again with a more carnal offer. We'd stayed in touch in a superficial way, but I wasn't surprised by her crude message asking if I wanted to fuck that evening. My dad introduced us last March at some work event and we hit it off. It was before I moved back from Seattle, so I didn't consider a relationship with her at the time, but we became friends, occasionally getting together to engage in adult recreational activities. She dated around, so it was never a big deal, but once I moved closer and the frequency of our rendezvouses increased, I had considered asking her to be my girlfriend. Tori was hot, kinky, smart, and kind. More of a party girl than I liked, but not unbearably so. When she texted me again, I should have been leaping at the chance to forget being hung up on a seventeen-year-old.

But I couldn't do it. I told her I was busy since it was a school night. My stalling wasn't very effective, though, because she called me the next day asking if I would be her date to the annual office party. She was laying it on thick about not having anyone to go with and how she hadn't seen me for weeks. I caved. I was attending anyway, so might as well go with someone I knew. Even though Jasper and my dad would be there, they were usually too wrapped up in employees to spend much time talking to me. I never enjoyed the office parties anyway even though it made my dad happy – too many drunk strangers in ties.

It was a few days before the office party that my relationship with Tori blew up in my face. She called me during my session with Bella – I don't even know what compelled me to answer right at that moment – and was double-checking that I was still attending the office party with her and what I would be wearing. She then tried to describe to me in a sultry voice what _she_ was wearing – nothing, apparently – and I could hardly get off the phone fast enough, fully aware of Bella's eyes on me.

"Was that your girlfriend?" she asked me. She asked like she was trying to tease me, but she wasn't that great of an actress.

I couldn't even answer her. No, Tori wasn't my girlfriend, but she wasn't my friend either. Especially having just had to avoid phone sex, it was painfully clear that Tori fell into a different category. And how was I supposed to explain that? _No, don't worry. She's just some woman I fuck occasionally._ Or better yet: _Don't worry. I don't fuck her anymore because I'm in love with you. Aren't I romantic?_ Rather than dig myself a deeper hole, I shut my fucking mouth.

On the day of the office party, I was already in an existential crisis over a seventeen year old, so I was not looking forward to facing family or Tori. I told Tori I would meet her at the party, not wanting to get suckered in to being at her apartment as she suggested. It fucked me up in a way to know how differently I would have responded to Tori a couple months ago. Before Bella, I would have been flirting up a storm, anticipating the end of the night when we would go back to Tori's place and fuck athletically. But no. I had already ruined my life for some girl.

Luckily, I had enough distractions to keep my mind occupied. Tori ran off to talk to somebody in accounting and I found my father holding court amongst his employees, drink in hand – not uncommon these days. Ever since he broke up with his most recent long-term girlfriend, he'd been a bit of a loose cannon when it came to women and alcohol. But maybe I'd be going through a mid-life crisis, too, if I had accidentally knocked up my high school girlfriend at the age of sixteen, married her two years later, had another son right after, lost my twenty year old wife to a car accident, remarried immediately after out of desperation, got _that_ wife pregnant because she purposefully poked holes in the condoms, and divorced in four months, kicking off a couple decades of bitterness and resentment. Yeah, I'd probably drink and fuck my way through middle age, too.

More to my surprise was the presence of Emmett.

"Hey," I greeted him, smiling and shaking his hand. "I didn't know you were coming."

I hadn't spoken to my youngest brother in a few months. We weren't close enough to keep in consistent contact – mostly because his mom was a goddamn nutcase – but I was pleased to see him anyway. He had gotten beefier in the interim.

"My class got cancelled, so I thought I'd drive out for the weekend."

"How's college been?" It was a generic enough question, but I didn't know what the hell was going on in his life anymore.

The good thing about Emmett was that it didn't take much to get him talking. He joked about his classes, complained about some of his football teammates, and enthused about some of the guys in his dorm. He didn't ask me any questions about my job or my life, though I was glad. I didn't want to have to pretend everything was fine.

"Alice and Bella, this is my dad, Carlisle, and my brothers, Edward and Emmett."

I turned my head at the sound of Bella's name coming from Jasper's voice.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, realizing I was speaking in unison with Emmett. Maybe it was the look he gave me. Maybe it was the sight of Jasper holding hands with Alice. Somehow, I didn't have to be told what the hell was happening to know what the hell was happening.

You know those times at birthdays or weddings when you have groups of friends from different parts of your lives intermingling? Like all the different masks you wear get spliced together in odd formations to accommodate change? Like you realize some kind of commonality amongst all those fractions of your life? It was like that.

It was the mix of my family, my work, and my love life – all held in the eyes of one scared, wide-eyed, shaking girl.

Jasper treated it like a Nancy Drew novel, laboriously drawing explanations out of each of us – explanations I didn't need to hear and didn't want to give. My mind was already churning, recalling small moments that added up to this mess.

The time Emmett told me in passing months ago how he took his girlfriend to a local baseball game. His girlfriend, Izzy.

The time I found Bella crying in her car over some ex-boyfriend – the ex-boyfriend that told her he loved her. The ex-boyfriend I was insanely jealous of.

The time Jasper mentioned his new girlfriend, saying she was friends with his new intern. Seeing Alice in front of me, only seventeen or eighteen, I understood why he never said names, never gave ages. How could I have known? He had been hiding things just like I was.

As I was still standing there, attempting to absorb the collision, Bella announced her intent to drink.

"You're not old enough," I pointed out when none of my family members felt it worthy of note.

She gave me an ice-cold glare and fled anyway.

"Jeez, I guess me being here makes her super uncomfortable," Emmett said. I had an instant, dark urge to shove him to the ground for thinking this had anything to do with him. I was still trying too hard to remember every detail she told me about her relationship with him, cross-analyzing them with my own image of Emmett. Mostly, it added up to the aforementioned shoving desire.

"Excuse me," I muttered, following Bella who was already finishing a drink and working a second.

I barely managed to stop her and try to make some sense of the situation when Tori appeared again, the first I had seen her since arriving. Even though she came up from behind me, the alcohol was apparent in her voice and the way she leaned so heavily on me. I held her up against me for fear of her falling, but she was too busying introducing me to Bella.

Of course she knew Tori, too. How could I have overlooked that? It was like a never-ending nightmare. Especially once Tori was trying to flirt with her. I'd seen Tori drunk numerous times – it was kind of her M.O. – but with her unique position as a woman with whom I'd been involved attempting to caress the hair of the other woman – girl, rather – with whom I'd been involved, I found myself strong-arming her out of there.

I gave Bella one last look – she was elemental, non-human, beyond any reckoning I could manage – and left with my cargo.

"I don't want to go yet," Tori whined to me as I pressed the elevator button.

"You're drunk."

"So?"

I shut my eyes. She didn't know about my mom, of course. God knows why she _thought_ I avoided alcohol. "You need to go home. You're acting ridiculous," I snapped.

She tugged at my grip on her arm. "Everybody acts ridiculous. That's the point. Jesus, loosen up, grandpa."

For a moment, she looked so young – younger than Bella even – and stubborn that I wondered what I ever found appealing about her. "Fine. Stay then. I'm leaving."

"What is wrong with you?" she asked me, like she could not fathom my lack of a party spirit.

Isabella Swan. That's what was wrong with me. She fell into my life – into every conceivable part of my life. It was like she had lurid roots, metastasizing into every vital vein. And maybe I didn't hate her for it. Maybe it just spelled out some kind of inevitability I already knew. I wasn't sure.

She fell into my life.

And I fell for her.

*V*V*V*V*V*


	12. Confession

*V*V*V*V*V*

When I wake up, I find myself pressed against cold leather. Turning my head, I realize I'm lying in the back of Alice's car, my jacket thrown over me like a blanket.

I shift and groan, but Alice chides me from the front seat, "No, don't get up yet. You fainted."

"What happened?"

Even though I can barely make out the profile of her face in the dark, she is clearly upset. "It was terrible. I got so mad at Jasper for not telling me more about his brothers because imagine how much could have been avoided if we had just talked and then he said I shouldn't be lecturing him about being forthcoming because I didn't tell him how old I am and introducing me to his family made him look even more like a pervert and I just . . . fuck, I'm sorry." She sniffs loudly and wipes her eyes. "Anyway, then Emmett dragged you over and you told me you wanted to go home and then your eyes rolled back in your head and you fainted. It was so scary, Bella. Jasper and Emmett caught you before you got hurt, but it caused such a scene carrying you out. Jasper kept arguing with me that we should just take you to his place and then Emmett got all pissed off about it, saying he didn't want you at Jasper's place and Jasper called him an idiot and I just told them I was going to take you back to Forks. Jasper took you and loaded you into my car and he offered to drive home with us, but I told him I could do it. We're about half an hour away."

Jesus. "Ok." I don't have the wherewithal to say more.

Alice uncharacteristically does not press me to speak, driving on in sniffling silence while I watch the highway streetlights flash past the window. It's surprisingly easy not to think, not to replay tonight's events and shocks. I just exist for half an hour, wiggling my toes and fingertips to stay grounded in my own body, curiously examining the effects of intoxication like an ambivalent scientist.

As we pull into town, Alice asks, "Do you want to crash at my place or yours?"

"Take me home, please." I want my own bed.

"Do you want me to stay with you?"

"No, I just want to sleep."

She nods, making the turn to my house, parking and jumping out to help me walk, though I've already sat up and pushed the door open. I feel more stable now.

"Do you need help getting in?"

"No, I'm good." I walk towards my front door without assistance though my legs feel disjointed, fumbling with my key.

Alice hovers behind me, anxious and ineffectual.

"Thank you," I add. "For everything. I promise I will talk to you tomorrow, but right now -."

"I know; you need some sleep," she says patiently. She always understands. "Text me if you need anything."

"I will," I say as I shut the door.

Inside my house, my mother is standing at the foot of the stairs in a robe, her eyes wide.

"Bella! Jesus Christ, I thought you were a burglar!"

"With a key?"

Her mouth opens and closes and she sighs. "I thought you were going to that work party and spending the night with Alice."

"I just wanted to come home," I mumble. I was hoping she would be asleep, but I suppose it's still relatively early. We didn't stay at the party long.

"Are you ok, baby?"

I nod my head, but she's my mother. She knows I'm not.

Her question changes: "What's wrong?"

I burst into tears on the spot, feeling everything I've been numb to all night.

"Oh my god, what's wrong?" Her arms are around me in an instant.

How do I begin to explain this? I just sob harder, tucking my face into her neck, wondering if she smells the whiskey on my breath.

"I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong," she pleads.

"I j-j-just want t-to go to b-bed," I stutter through my tears, shaking hard.

"Ok, ok, let's get you upstairs," she says urgently, eager to do something to bring me solace.

I trip twice on my way up, but my mother's arms are around me the whole way, anchoring me, keeping me aloft, keeping me whole. Aside from kicking off my shoes, I don't even bother to change out of my dress when we make it to my room, collapsing into my bed and letting her tuck me in like I'm five.

"Do you want me to stay with you until you fall asleep?" she asks, her face taut with worry.

I nod, sniffling and trying to stop the flow of tears. She pulls over the ancient rocking chair next to my bed and sits in it, reaching out to stroke my forehead in a soothing, rhythmic motion, never asking for more information. I know it's hard for her to not know why her only child is falling apart at the seams, but I have never been so grateful for silence.

Cocooned in a quilt my grandma made in the house my father helped build with my mother's calming touch at my temples, I succumb to sleep.

*V*V*V*V*V*

In the morning, I wake up to the smell of bread and the sound of my door opening.

"Hey, baby, I brought you some food." My mom looks worse for the wear, carrying a steaming mug of tea and some toast with butter and strawberry jelly. She never brings me breakfast in bed.

"Thank you," I croak, sitting up and finding my head aching, still wearing last night's dress like a tragic prom girl.

"Toast and ibuprofen always made me feel better when I had hangovers," she says knowingly, an edge to her voice as she hands me two capsules from her robe pocket.

I take them in silence, swallowing scalding tea.

She sits in the rocking chair still posted by my bed, setting the toast on my lap. "Are you ready to talk?"

I wonder if she'll leave me alone if I say no. "Can I eat first? I feel nauseous."

"Did Alice drive you home?" she asks. I guess that's a no.

"Yeah." I take a bite of toast anyway.

"Was she drinking, too?"

"No."

"Were you actually at a work party?"

"Yes."

Her eyebrows rise on her forehead. "And they served alcohol to minors at this party?"

I just look at her, thinking I pretty much served it to myself, taking another bite of toast. The sugary jam tastes perfect.

"What happened?"

Chewing slowly, I debate with myself about how much to tell her. My mother is liberal in many ways. She was the first one I told when I had sex with Emmett; she responded by letting him stay in my room overnight, telling me she trusted me to be safe, offering to show me how to use condoms. Her attitude has always been about preparation rather than prevention. Still, there is so much I have not told her for months – so much insanity to confess.

"Mama, I don't even know where to start," I say, tears threatening at my waterline. "I'm so scared you're going to hate me or think badly of me."

"Honey, there is nothing you can say to me that will make me hate you. You are my daughter and I will always love you no matter what, ok? I just need to know what is going on with you."

"Ok," I breathe, swallowing a few times to gather myself. "It, um, it all started before school began, after Emmett broke up with me."

This is not the opening line she's expecting, broadening the scope of last night's issue to encompass a much larger span of time.

"Alice took me to a club in Port Angeles to cheer me up and – yes, I know we're underage. We were going there to dance more than drink," I defend, seeing her about to interrupt. "I, uh, met someone there." Without looking at her and not wanting to draw this out, I add, "Turns out the guy was my English teacher."

Her audible intake of breath draws my gaze. "Oh my god, Bella. Was it . . . have you been physical with him?" she asks in a low voice.

I push a crumb around my plate under my thumb.

"Bella."

"A little."

"Oh, god. What kind of sick man –?"

"He thought I was older. I look older, Mom. You know I do. He wasn't trying to prey on me. I was the one . . . I instigated it. It was my fault for acting like I was twenty-one. Neither of us knew until the first day of school and we decided to just pretend it never happened and make the best of it."

She puts her head in her hands and I sit up straighter, leaning towards her.

"It was all a bad mistake, Mom. I swear."

"Has he . . . has he been inappropriate with you?"

"No, of course not." Ok, I'm lying, but I can't tell her _everything._

"Ok," she says slowly, deciding to take me at my word and let it go for now. "What does he have to do with your work party?"

"I'll get there."

Her face bunches up. "Ok." Yeah, buckle the fuck up.

"So turns out Alice met some guy the same night I met Edward and they're dating now, which is great. He's fine with her age and he's a cool guy. Meanwhile, I started my internship, right? Guess who my boss is."

"Alice's boyfriend?"

"Yeah. Which isn't a big deal because, like I said, he's a great guy, but, you know, it makes the supervisor thing weird since we joke around pretty freely."

"Ok," she says hesitantly.

"So, I was going to this work party last night and Alice was coming anyway because her boyfriend is my boss. He was going to introduce her to his family because his dad owns the company and it was, like, a family get together for them at the office party. I'm friends with him, so he pulled me along, too, and I swear I thought I was going to throw up."

"Why?"

"His two brothers and father were there. His brothers are my English teacher and Emmett fucking McCarty and their dad owns the whole company."

She stares at me for a moment like she's waiting for a punch line. "Holy shit."

"Yeah."

"Shit," she says again, shaking her head.

"Yup. That's pretty much when I started drinking."

"Wait, how did this happen? I mean, you dated Emmett a while – you haven't met any of his family?"

I shake my head. "I've only met his Mom a few times, but his parents are divorced and Edward and Jasper are his half-brothers with a different mom. I mean, I don't think Emmett ever mentioned them by name and there weren't any pictures of them in his Mom's house because they're not her children. Besides, they all have different last names! How crazy is that?"

"Shit." Eloquent, Mom. "Why didn't you come to me sooner?"

"I was so ashamed of myself," I sigh. "I mean, telling you about Edward would have meant telling you I snuck into a bar and the stuff with their family and how they're related . . . well, I just found out."

"So what is your plan now?"

"Plan?"

"Are you . . . good lord, are you planning on _pursuing_ this Edward?"

"No, but . . ." – the tears spring to my eyes with such speed that I'm startled by my own reaction – "I don't know, Mom. It's not like I want to get him fired and I know he's older, but I just have a lot of feelings for him and . . . and . . ."

"What, baby?"

I sob in earnest. "I-I f-f-found out l-last night that h-h-he's dating my c-coworker and they look p-p-perfect for each other."

Her eyes laser focus on me and her voice is eerily calm when she asks, "Are you in love with him?"

"I d-don't know. I haven't l-let myself be because it's n-not like we c-c-can be together."

"Oh, honey," she sighs, leaning forward to wrap me in her arms. "It's going to be ok."

"I'm s-sorry. This is all f-fresh for me."

She shakes her head. "It's ok, baby. This sounds like it was just a terrible coincidence. You know I love you so much no matter what." She tells me it's going to be ok over and over like a soothing chant, rocking me.

It takes me an embarrassingly long time to breathe more normally and calm down, but she finally lets go of me and looks me in the eyes, waiting for me to speak.

"I don't know what to do," I admit. "I feel like such an idiot."

"Let me ask you something. How does this guy – Edward? – feel about you?"

I shrug. "I know he's attracted to me and I think it's more than that, too. I mean, I think he likes me as a person. He told me he would take me on a date if I was older, but we both realize how futile this is."

"How old is he?"

"Twenty-five."

My mother shrugs, blowing her blonde-bordering-on-silver hair out of her face. "Eight years isn't terrible and you're mature. It's not like you'll be in high school forever. Who's to say it's futile?"

It takes me a solid ten seconds to pick my jaw up off the floor. "Are you serious?"

"Bella, there is nothing about this situation that sounds great. No mother wants to hear her teenage daughter is involved with her twenty-something teacher. Yes, I think you made some poor choices along the way, but it sounds like a bad coincidence and I think we need to be realistic about it."

"Ok, but what is realistic here? He's dating the most gorgeous woman ever and I'm just some high school student that he accidentally had a thing with." I'm oversimplifying and I know it; Edward and I . . . there's something genuine there.

She seems to feel the same way, skeptically raising her eyebrow at me. "You act older and yes, you're right that you look older, too. Daddy was nine years older, you know," she reminds me.

"I forgot," I admit. I don't think about my father in terms of his age. He died when he was forty-five and I only have snapshot memories of him. "How old were you when you met, though?"

"I was twenty-one and he was thirty. My mother was furious with me when we started dating," she laughs. "But we knew we were right for each other even though I was just finishing college and getting on my feet and he had been a police officer for many years already. We married a year later and then it took us so long to have you because of all my reproductive issues."

This is a story I remember. "You found out you were pregnant on your eighth wedding anniversary," I finish for her, a small smile forming on my lips. I've always liked the thought of my parents, happily married and desperately wanting a child, grinning at a positive test on their anniversary.

"The best present we ever gave each other," she says, looking wistful and fighting back tears. "Look, baby, your high school English teacher is not the man I would pick for you, but your father wasn't the man Grandma Marie would have picked for me either and we did just fine. If you're meant to be together, then you're meant to be together."

"But he's dating someone else now."

She shrugs. "Then focus on yourself and on school and see how things go. You can't go breaking up a relationship, but maybe it won't last. Or maybe it will and this is all some difficult phase right now and you'll meet a boy your own age. I don't know."

"Um . . ." That's not exactly helpful.

"I'm saying just be yourself and see what happens after you graduate. I don't condone a relationship with this man while you're in high school, but if you both end up single and feeling the same way, then you can wait it out. Believe me, neither one of you – especially him – is going to want to deal with the consequences if someone found out."

"I know. I think about that every day."

She nods. "You're smart. I know you've considered every angle and thought through everything – but if you're still so hooked on this guy regardless, then wait and see," she repeats.

I stare at her in awe, amazed by her patience, calmness, and positivity. "I love you, Mama. I was so . . . it terrified me to tell you all this."

"I love you, too. Don't ever be scared to bring things to me, ok? I just want you to be happy."

I bite my lip. "What if Edward makes me happy?"

"Then invite him over for dinner or something so I can meet him," she says with utter seriousness.

I can't help but laugh, hugging her. "You're the best."

"I know," she says. "Ok, I am going to do some laundry while I actually have the energy to do it. Do you need anything?"

I'm still too dazed by her acceptance. "No, I'm good. Thank you."  
"Ok. Eat your toast, though. It really does help with hangovers."

*V*V*V*V*V*


	13. Forget

**I have to say how pleased I am by the response to Renee because she is very much modeled after my own mother. :)**

*V*V*V*V*V*

The rest of my Saturday is spent napping and watching terrible TV with my mom. We laugh like nothing is wrong and I realize I haven't spent time with her like this in forever, cuddled up together on the couch, eating junk food. It's curative.

Alice calls that night to check up on me and I assure her that I am fine, quietly filling her in about my mom and asking about her fight with Jasper. She says they worked everything out, though she doesn't go into details, which makes me think things are still tense. I wonder if work will be even more awkward.

It isn't until Sunday that Emmett calls.

"Hey, are you still up for meeting today? I didn't know how you were feeling after you passed out on Friday." He sounds compassionate and thoughtful.

God, why did I agree to this? "I . . . yeah, I guess we could meet."

"I'm hanging out at the reservation right now. Do you want to meet closer to the edge of town? The diner maybe?"

"Sure."

"Half an hour?"

"Yeah, that's fine."

When I arrive, Emmett is already seated in a booth. The diner is crowded as it always is on Sundays and I regret our decision to meet here. There are too many people I know.

"Hey," Emmett says, smiling at me. He does have a nice smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Better. I suppose I never thanked you for saving me from falling all over the place."

"No problem. I've never seen you drink like that."

"That's because I never have."

"You were that weirded out, huh?"

"Emmett, I don't want to talk about Friday. Let's just talk about . . . well, whatever you wanted to talk about."

He straightens, like he's preparing. "I wanted to tell you I'm sorry, Izzy. I know I said some awful things to you. I was just hurt and lashing out, but I've regretted it forever."

That stupid phone conversation feels like it was years ago. The fact that he doesn't know how thoroughly I've fucked him over – intentionally or not – makes it easy to say, "I forgive you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I said some mean things, too. I think we both lost our heads."

"Do you think we could be friends? I mean, I really did have a lot of fun with you and I miss that."

"I'm not looking to date you again," I say definitively.

"I know, I know," he says quickly. "Just friends."

"Ok."

"Maybe you could come visit me at school sometime?"

"Yeah, maybe."

That's all Emmett needs to launch into stories about his college experiences. It seems like he has so many already, but he's entertaining as always, exaggeratedly acting out impressions and laughing at his own jokes in a way that makes me laugh, too. Soon enough, we're in stitches like always, slapping the table and trading stories.

After an hour, when we're both coming down from the laughter of his story about how he accidentally bleached his clothes because his mom never showed him how to do laundry, he asks me about Edward. "So what's my brother like as a teacher?"

"I'm not in his class, remember?" I point out, trying to hide my discomfort.

"Oh," Emmett says, disappointed. "That's a bummer. I was hoping I could get some material to tease him with. Jasper told me he's got a flock of girls that follow him everywhere and are totally in love with him." God, if he only knew. "I guess it's funny enough that he teaches where you and Alice go to school."

I don't take the bait. "Yeah, sorry I don't know much. So, tell me how football is going," I instruct, changing the subject to something Emmett will happily chatter about.

By the time the sun is getting low in the sky, we finally part ways on much better terms than we started. In many ways, it is easy to love him. I don't think he's a man of great emotional depths, but the surface is so easy and fun. I'm glad there's at least one member of the Cullen gene pool that still likes me.

*V*V*V*V*V*

"Hey," I greet Edward during study period.

He just looks at me, leaning back in his chair warily. The tired circles under his eyes make him look sick. "You might as well close the door."

I do. He's right to not want to be overheard. "I wanted to say . . . ok, I don't know what I want to say. I just don't want things to be weird because of . . . well, you know. I'm checking on you, I guess."

"Checking on me," he repeats, like he's testing out the sound of it. "Would you like the list of reasons why I am not ok?"

Jesus, this ought to be good.

"This weekend, I discovered that you not only work for my father and brother – who is dating the only other student that knows about my history with you, for the record – but that you also used to date Emmett. And of _course_ you know Tori, too."

"My internship ends in under two months so it's not like I'm working for them forever; Emmett and I have been broken up for a while and he has no idea about what happened between us; and Tori was drunk. I mean, I know you're dating and all, but –."

"I'm not dating Tori."

I stare at him blankly. "What?"

"We're not together. We never have been."

His words don't make sense to me. "What?" I repeat, trying to assimilate the information. What about that phone call? Or how she was hanging on him? Or her calling him her date?

"We're friends."

"Just friends?"

"We didn't used to be, but we are now," he says curtly.

Oh. "For how long?" I ask unashamedly.

He eyes me, but confesses anyway. "Since I met you," he groans even as I imagine crawling into his lap and kissing him with the relief I feel. "It's like everything leads back to you. I just want to do my job like any other teacher without getting fired or thrown in jail, but everywhere I turn and everyone I turn to has some connection with you."

The sound of his desperation cuts an icy feeling into my chest. "And you don't think I feel the same way?" I demand. "That connection goes both ways, you know. I struggle all the time with trying not to cause you stress or put you at risk with your job or reputation. I get it, ok? I have tried to forget, too – to not feel attracted to you or to remember how it felt when –."

A dangerous expression crosses his face, nostrils flaring. "Don't."

"Sorry," I atone immediately. "I just mean that I worry the same way."

"The same way?" he repeats hotly. "How would you feel if I showed up at _your_ family reunion?"

On impulse, I blurt, "I told my mom."

He blinks at me for a second, thrown off balance. "Told her _what_?" he asks sharply when my sentence registers.

"About how we met. Not all of it," I add, scared of his expression.

He looks torn between furor and horror. "What have you done?"

"She was super cool about it," I say quickly, paling. "She knows how I feel and how I think you feel – or, how you used to feel, I mean. I don't know. She kind of gave me her blessing – after graduation, I mean, but it's not like –."

"Stop."

"What?"

"Just . . . Jesus Christ – stop. Your mom . . . it doesn't change anything," he says darkly, tugging at his hair.

"It changes everything," I disagree. "I mean, not until after graduation, of course, but having my mom on our side –."

"No, it doesn't!" he explodes. "I can't do this with you anymore. I'm losing my goddamn mind."

"Edward, I –."

"Don't call me that," he hisses. He's not even looking at me anymore, staring straight down at his desk, nostrils flared and eyes wild.

I flinch. Maybe it's his turn for a mental breakdown. "What do you want from me then?" I ask sharply.

"I want to forget I ever met you."

Holy shit. I just stare at him. Part of me understands – he just wants to be a good teacher without me acting as a constant temptation, driving both of us crazy – but another, larger part feels like I've been slapped across the face. I've been stupid all along. Just because he wanted to ask me on a date after I gave him a blowjob weeks ago doesn't mean he still feels that way.

A nasty voice in my head asks why he would want me anyway. Some teenager that got drunk at a work party because she couldn't keep it together? Yeah, super sexy and _so_ mature. How could he _possibly_ resist? And knowing that drunk teenager got it on with his brother? Yup, a practical goddess.

The burning in my eyes tells me I'm about to cry. Luckily, it's easy to gather my belongings seeing as I never unpacked them, rising to my feet and turning for the door. If that's really how he feels, then I won't stand in the way.

I pause with my door on the handle for a moment, hoping he'll apologize or say anything at all . . . but no response comes.

"Goodbye, Edward," I say with a feeling of finality.

*V*V*V*V*V*

I don't know how I make it through the rest of my school day or how I muster the courage to drive to Port Angeles for work. I feel like a zombie. All I can focus on is how I overcame the gigantic challenge of breaking it to my mother that I have the hots for my teacher – and even won her acceptance – and none of it matters because said teacher doesn't want anything to do with me. _I want to forget I ever met you._ His words play on a sound loop in my head. Why did I tell him about my mom? How could I be so stupid to delude myself with a happily ever after?

The second I step off the elevator at work, I head in the direction of Jasper's office, but I notice everyone turning to look at me as I walk across the floor. The chasm in my stomach deepens, having no doubt as to the curiosity behind their stares.

I don't knock as I barricade myself in Japer's office, pressing my back to the door. "They're all looking at me," I breathe.

He scratches the back of his head, leaning back in his chair. "You were literally carried out of here on Friday."

I shut my eyes tight, wanting this all to go away. "I didn't pass out because I was drunk. I passed out because I was in shock. God, they all think I'm some kind of alcoholic."

"No," he disagrees gently, "they don't. I don't mean this to sound cruel, but they were more amused than anything."

"Amused?" I repeat skeptically.

"Believe me, you are not the first underage intern to drink at the office party. You weren't even the only underage intern to drink at _that_ office party."  
"I thought interns weren't invited, though."

"Sometimes they are if people like them enough."

Exhaling the breath that was building in my lungs, I peel myself away from his door and plop down in the chair before his desk. "That makes me feel a little better. I was worried you would fire me or something."

"If we fired everybody that got too drunk at the office party, we would be out of business," Jasper jokes.

I roll my eyes, though I accomplish a smile. He always manages to put me at ease. "Thank you. I promise it will never happen again." Not like I'll be working here much longer, but still.

"No worries. Besides, it sounds like you had good reason to drink."

Stiffening in place, I reanalyze his face. "Alice told you?" I guess.

"No. Edward."

" _Edward_?" I squawk. I mean, I suppose it makes sense because they're brothers, but part of me assumed Edward would take his behavior with me to the grave. I guess it's all out in the open now. I wonder if Emmett knows or –worse – if Carlisle knows. "Jesus," I groan, placing my hands over my face and peeking at Jasper through my fingers.

But he's calm and collected. "It all sounds like a bad string of coincidences," he reassures me. God, my mom said the same thing. Is that what my life is now? Just a mess of bad coincidences? "I don't think less of you or anything. I mean, yes, it _definitely_ creeps me out to know you've had sex with both of –."

"I didn't have sex with Edward," I interrupt. "We were involved briefly, but not to that degree."

"Sorry," Jasper says. "Edward made it sound like more."

I slink down in my seat. "Well, it wasn't," I assert glumly.

"Bella," Jasper says in a different tone – more seriously. "Please be careful with him."

I narrow my eyes. "What is that supposed to mean?" He's the one that stomped all over my heart today.

Jasper gives me a pitying, knowing look.

"What?" I demand.

"Look, my brother is not the most forthcoming guy, but I know when he's in lo –."

"Don't you dare," I say sharply. I don't want to hear that Edward Masen is in love with me – not from someone else's lips, not after today.

Besides, I don't know if _I'm_ in love with _him_. Do I even know him well enough? We've never been on equal footing long enough for me to be sure even if my feelings definitely lean in that direction. My fantasies about him are not purely sexual anymore – some of them involve imagining us having breakfast on Sunday mornings, going grocery shopping together, hanging out at the comic book shop he shyly told me he used to frequent. Couple things. Things we couldn't do in the light of day where we might get recognized, but things people in love do anyway.

God, this is going to make the tutoring session so awkward tomorrow.

I shake my head, clearing my thoughts and sighing. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. I know you're trying to help, but Edward . . . he needs to decide what he's doing for himself. He's the one that has to pick me – and he has a million reasons why he shouldn't." I told him that the last time I was at Volterra when I left his car; he's the one with everything to lose, after all.

Jasper sighs. "I'm sorry. I just hate to see the both of you suffering."

Because I can't help myself, I ask, "Would you really be ok with us dating? With him dating a student? Your employee? Someone eight – well, seven and a half – years younger?"

"I'd be ok with him dating _you,_ " he says meaningfully.

My face warms. "Even after knowing . . . well, _all_ of it? You still like me?" I prompt pitifully.

"Of course, Jack. You're my second favorite high schooler."

I laugh despite myself. "Gee, thanks, cowboy."

"But, really, I count you as one of my friends. You're laidback and passionate and smart."

I blush. "Back at you."

"You want to do some work today or should I pretend I sent you on a super important errand so you can just chill out?" Jasper is a saint.

"I appreciate that, but I'd rather work. It might help keep me distracted."

His lips quirk and he stands, handing me a thick folder. "Why don't you edit this manuscript for me?"

Despite everything I've been through and my shitty mood, my eyes light up. "Are you serious? You want me to actually do some editing? Not just practice stuff?"

He laughs. "Yes, Jack. Show me what you've got."

I practically snatch it out of his hands, determined to do a fantastic job. "Yes, sir, Mr. Boss Man."

"That's the spirit. Good luck."

I take a moment to feel intense gratitude for Jasper and then salute him, leaving his office and ignoring the stares as I set to work.

*V*V*V*V*V*


	14. Running

*V*V*V*V*V*

On Tuesday, I've already made up my mind on how to proceed, though Alice counsels me against it.

"You can't do that for the rest of the school year," she points out.

"Watch me." I feel like I've been transformed into a battle-hardened warrior overnight, prepared to go to any lengths to protect myself. "He made himself very clear, so I'm not going to bother him anymore."

Alice shakes her head. "He was just overreacting because you freaked him out about your mom knowing and he has lots of feelings for you," she says patiently. She's probably been talking to Jasper too much.

I don't want her wisdom right now. I am tired, hurt, and angry and I've already resolved to have as little contact with him as possible. Therefore, when lunch ends, I head directly to the library instead of Edward's office, finding a plush loveseat in the corner and curling up with the manuscript Jasper gave me, working on editing that instead.

I spend the whole period poring over a biography of Elizabeth I, trying to figure out how to present the information better while also correcting simple grammatical things. No one questions my presence in the library – a bunch of students come here for study hall anyway – and no one bothers me. It's peaceful, actually, being absorbed in a project amidst thousands of books, not having to deal with my own drama.

And, just like that, the period is over and I continue on with my normal day. I don't see Edward once and consider my experiment a great success.

*V*V*V*V*V*

An entire two weeks pass without so much as a single Edward encounter – not even a coincidental glance in the hallway. It's odd how easy it is to avoid him in such a tiny school. I feel a twinge of guilt that I am not doing any tutoring work or completing any of my other responsibilities, but he does not try to track me down or contact me. It almost hurts more, but he's probably relieved to have the respite from the stupid girl that confused herself for an adult.

It doesn't help that I hardly see Alice anymore. Well, that's not entirely true. We see each other, but not like we used to, lazing about on Saturdays, doing homework on Sundays. She spends most of her weekends in Port Angeles with Jasper now. I'm not resentful exactly because her radiant joy is awe-inspiring, but I miss her company – particularly in the midst of my heartache. At least one of us has her man, though.

The only awkward part at work is that Carlisle swoops in to take me to lunch one Saturday, delicately apologizing for the events of the office party and for his ignorance of my age and former relationship to his son – if he only knew I had bagged _two_ of his sons rather than one. It's so painfully uncomfortable that I blush and rush through my own apology. However, his charm wins me over again as he laughs and changes the subject, asking me about my work experience thus far. We end up chatting amicably about editing and the switch to electronic reading devices and even politics over the course of an hour, so it's not a complete loss. He even makes a comment about me being sure to apply here for a job when I graduate college.

Otherwise, I quietly turn eighteen, celebrating with the usual dinner with my mom. She cooks lasagna for me and we talk at length about Edward and his reaction to her acceptance – I'm trying to be more open with her now – but she agrees with Alice that I can't hide in the library forever, that he's probably scared of fewer boundaries keeping him from acting on his impulses. I don't want to hear her wisdom either.

Emmett texts me every once in a while, staying true to his word to remain nothing more than friendly. He asks me how things are going and tells me about his classes, inviting me once again to come visit him at college. I remain noncommittal though the prospect of getting away from Forks for a while sounds appealing.

After the third week of completely blowing off my tutoring gig, I realize I no longer feel angry with Edward. Well, not _as_ angry. There's something that twists in my stomach whenever I think about him – somewhere between longing and wistfulness – but I feel no bitterness. He was right, in a way. We were going to drive each other mad and my cooler head allows me a more sober outlook of my own foolishness. I never should have held any pretentions of being together one day.

The biggest surprise through my time in self-enforced exile is that I develop a friendship with Demetri. He was the first to stop being weird around me after the office party incident. He's a married thirty-something, but we jive well together.

"Oh my god, don't tell me you're using company time for more architectural geeking out," I tease him, seeing the open browser tab for building blueprints. Turns out he initially went to school for architecture and maintains adoration for the practice though he couldn't get a job in his chosen field. He went back to school for an English degree and started here six months ago.

"There's only five minutes left before work's over, sass monster," he says, sticking out his tongue at me.

"Whatever you say, nerd," I joke. "I came to borrow your stapler." There are literally six staplers closer to me than his, but whatever. I feel like chatting. I lean across his desk and grab it without waiting for permission, stapling my summarized review of a potential manuscript to the front of the first chapter. Jasper has been giving me a steady stream of projects now – and I don't even think it's because he's dating my best friend.

"Why do you always steal my supplies, _zaika_?"

"Don't you Russians believe in equal distribution of resources?"

"For the last time, I'm not a Communist," he says, rolling his eyes, but smiling at my well-worn joke. "Were you even born when the Wall came down?"

"Nope," I acknowledge freely. "How old were you? Forty?"

"Oh, pipe down, you darn youth. I came here when I was six, for god's sake. A really cute six-year-old, for the record." He makes a show of tossing his hair, making me grin.

"Edward!" I hear Tori say from behind me.

My eyes wheel around to find Edward staring at me. Realizing how it must look that I am leaning against Demetri's desk, bent close, laughing, I guiltily tilt away out of instinct. Of course, I don't know why I feel guilty – Demetri is happily married, even if Edward doesn't know that. I owe him nothing.

He breaks his searing eye contact with me – it leaves me shaken, not having seen him for three weeks – and turns to hug Tori. "Hey."

Her smile is huge. "What are you doing here?"

"I had to talk with my dad about something."

"Oh, I thought you were here to see me."

"Well, I'm free now. Do you want to grab dinner?"

How fucking thoughtful. I turn my head away from them sharply, reminding myself that I am not angry anymore. I wonder if they're having sex again, but it shouldn't matter to me. Isn't that what adult people get to do?

"Oh my gosh, that's so sweet, but I'm not done working yet. Do you want to wait in the lobby for a bit?"

I tune them out, shaking my head. "Thanks for the stapler," I say to Demetri.

"Any time, _zaika_."

"You know I know you've been calling me _bunny_ for weeks, right? I googled it."

He guffaws, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. He says a much longer sentence in Russian, but I have no idea what it means. "It's because your nose twitches like a bunny when you laugh."

I narrow my eyes at him and wrinkle my nose purposefully. "You're lucky I don't come up with a nickname for you."

"Do your worst, _bunny._ "

I roll my eyes at him, but head back to my own work station, packing up my folders of editing projects and studiously avoiding looking behind me where I know Edward is waiting for Tori.

"Oh, hey, man," Jasper says as he steps out of his office, seeing his brother standing by the elevators. "I didn't know you were coming."

"Yeah, I was picking up that check from dad." I hear them thump each other's backs. "I didn't think everyone would be working this late." Even though his tone is casual, I am paranoid enough to think he's talking about me.

"Jasper," I interrupt, not glancing at Edward at all, "I am going to head out. I'll see you on Saturday."

He gives me a look. I never leave early – not even by three minutes – because I usually stay to talk to him and goof around without prying ears. But he knows my desperation to flee.

"Ok, good luck with the Marsden piece. You know you don't have to finish it by –."

"You know I'm going to finish it anyway," I tell him with a small smile. I am voracious when it comes to reading all these manuscripts. There is a growing pile of them in my car, like some kind of eccentric dragon horde.

"Right, Jack," he laughs. "See you Wednesday."

The elevator is still on this floor, so the doors slide open immediately when I press the button. To my shock and dismay, Edward says, "Ok, I'll catch you later, Jasper. I'm going to go wait for Tori," and steps into the elevator with me.

I immediately shrink back into the corner. Fuck.

Although I expect him to speak while he has me trapped alone – because there's no way he _coincidentally_ got on this elevator – he keeps his gaze trained on the doors despite the tense muscles of his jaw. I can feel anticipation radiating off of him, like a predator preparing to strike.

The floors slowly tick down to one and my heartbeat is frantic with expectation. Just as we reach the lobby and the doors roll open, he says it: "See you tomorrow. It's your turn to bring the coffee." He almost smiles.

And that's it. He does not glance at me again, smoothly striding out and sitting on a couch to wait for Tori. What happened to forgetting he ever met me? I'm so dazed that the doors begin to shut on me before I step out, causing me to stumble forward and walk quickly to the exit, fighting my urge to run.

My difficulty is that don't know if I want to run away from him or run _to_ him.

*V*V*V*V*V*


	15. Clallum Bae

*V*V*V*V*V*

I'm an idiot. I don't know why I'm doing this. But I knock at his office door anyway, already blushing. I debated with myself all night and half the morning about not wanting to be jerked around, but also not wanting to avoid my problems – and I found myself marching down the English hallway to his hamster cage of an office anyway. At least I didn't make the damn coffee – there is still _some_ pride involved here.

"Come in."

"Hey."

"Hey," he says, eyebrows rising. "I wasn't . . . I wasn't sure if you'd come."

I shrug self-consciously. "I wasn't sure either. I didn't bring coffee, though," I blurt out – like that will show that I'm some adult human being in full control of her actions because _I_ choose who gets coffee or not.

His expression is blank. "I was just kidding about the coffee, you know. I wouldn't bring me coffee either."

I stare at him for a moment, surprised. Now I feel bad. "I'd like to think I'm not that petty." Of course, I've also been hiding from him in the library for nearly a month because he yelled at me one time, so who's to say?

After a moment of intense eye contact where it feels like he's trying to x-ray into my soul, he sighs. "Maybe I'm projecting. I've wanted to apologize to you for a long time."

I'm not astonished exactly, though I wasn't expecting this discussion to happen so quickly. "I have, too."

A scrutinizing gaze accompanies his response. "When I said I wanted to forget ever meeting you . . . I was completely overwhelmed by everything. Finding out you used to date Emmett and that you worked for my family and that you had told your mom –."

"I am sorry for that – for dropping all of that on you. I'm not proud of how I handled it either. I just didn't want to be on this rollercoaster anymore."

"I don't blame you for that at all. I can't believe you didn't run sooner."

I'm unsure how to respond. Maybe I should have run – I've just never wanted to.

When my silence pervades, Edward exhales loudly. "There's so much I want to say. I've just, uh . . . I've missed you."

I'm lost in him for a moment, feeling a wave of that same connectedness that has eluded me for weeks. Like we're a team against the world. I swallow loudly. "I've missed you, too."

"Bella," he says slowly, "I –."

A knock sounds on the door, causing me to jump.

"Come in," Edward says, self-consciously straightening his tie. Instinctively, I grab the nearest stack of papers off his desk to appear more studious – and not like I'm in the middle of navigating romance with my high school English teacher.

"Hey, Ed," Mr. Berty says, popping his head in but then following through with the rest of his body when he sees me. "Oh, hey, Bella!"

"Hi, Mr. Berty!" I say a bit too cheerfully in my attempt to sound normal.

Thankfully, he doesn't notice, turning his head back to Edward. "I just wanted to talk to you about that matter we discussed yesterday, but it can wait. I forgot you had tutoring this period." He smiles at me. "He's not being too hard on you, is he?"

Immediately, I flash back to my first time in Edward's office when I noticed exactly how _hard_ he was. "No," I choke out.

Mr. Berty's eyes wander around the four claustrophobic walls of our confinement, adjusting his glasses on his rounded nose. "Jeez, they've got you squished like sardines in here. You're practically on top of each other."

Seeing Edward's face flush in response to the last sentence, I fake a laugh and look down, pointlessly perusing through my purloined pile of papers.

"Oh, well. I imagine they'll give you my office when I retire next year," he comments affably. "Anyway, shoot me an email when you have time to meet. See you in class tomorrow, Bella. I'm looking forward to reading your short story. You really are a gifted writer."

I'm blushing; Edward and I practically match. "Thanks, Mr. Berty. See you."

He closes the door behind him and I breathe normally again, turning to Edward only to find him already staring me down, eyes wild with emotion. I half-expect him to transform into the cold professional shell I've seen so often, but I watch as his gaze turns to steely resolve, his face a mask of determination. He writes hastily on a sticky note and hands it to me.

"Can you meet me at this address today? After school?"

It's hard to read his flowing script as I pinch the paper between my digits because my hand is shaking. I swallow when I read the last words: Clallum Bay. "Is this _your_ address?" I think of the possibility of making love in his bed, fucking on his sofa, rutting in his shower. I'd pretend like it's crazy that my mind jumps there so quickly after not speaking for so long, but there's no denying my urges regarding this man.

"Um, no." His eyebrows furrow. "It's a coffee shop."

"Oh." I blush. I'm a horny idiot. "Why?"

"We need to talk and this isn't the place for it."

Self-consciously swallowing again – god, why is there so much saliva in my mouth right now? – I nod jerkily. "Ok. Just tell me when."

*V*V*V*V*V*

I find myself adjusting my cleavage and tapping my toes, glancing around the coffee shop listlessly in a kind of fugue state. It's not like I expected him to be here yet – his car was still in the parking lot when I left – but the anticipation is effectively tightening its chokehold on me.

Nestled in a booth tucked along the glass front of the shop, I instinctively think this must be somewhere that Edward frequents. He can't live far. It's warmly lit and smells like pastries and coffee. Although I have no plans to imbibe caffeine when my nerves are already shattered, I admire their wide variety of roasted-in-house, micro-batch coffee beans. It's very Pacific Northwest hipster, but there's a relaxed vibe that I could see myself enjoying if my mind wasn't sprinting in convoluted circles. I don't know what he wants. I don't know why I'm here. I don't know what _I_ want. Well, scratch that. I do. I want him. I just don't know if I _should_. God, scratch that, too. I _know_ I shouldn't, but I don't know if it's worth it. And I don't even know what _it_ is.

After what feels like an eternity, he arrives. My heart races when I see him, but I wave at him with a semblance of collectedness. His eyes travel over me with what I interpret as male appreciation and nervousness, though he makes no comment.

"Hey," he says. "Sorry I'm a little late. I got caught up talking to Berty again."

"He's a talker," I concede blandly, remembering all too well the empty chatter that filled my prior year as a student tutor, peripherally recalling some mysterious topic they were supposed to discuss.

"Have you ordered yet?"

I shake my head. "No, I was waiting for you."

"What would you like?"

Biting my lip because him paying for things makes it harder to ignore the resemblance this outing has to a date, I say, "Um, a green tea would be nice."

He nods and departs for the register, returning shortly with a tray containing a cup of coffee, my tea, and two cinnamon rolls. "I got you one, too," he says softly – shyly. "The ones here are my favorite."

"Thank you." He only bought me a pastry, but my heart is throbbing like he asked for my hand in marriage.

After he sits, arranges our cups and treats, stirs his coffee for no apparent reason, and finishes his first bite of cinnamon roll, he finally admits, "I don't know where to start." His admission, rather than calming me, makes me more anxious. If _he_ doesn't know what he's doing, then I sure as hell don't.

"Why did you ask me to come here?"

"It's safer to talk."

"To talk about what exactly? I mean, I could guess, but I don't know what you're wanting or expecting from me now."

"I just want . . . I don't know – to go over things, I guess. In general, I mean. There's so much we haven't said. That's what I meant about not knowing where to start."

I watch him cautiously, examining his face, his bearing, his earnestness. If he really wants to do this . . .

"Are you sleeping with Tori again?"

He chokes on his coffee, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "God, no. We're just friends." He looks horrified before his expression sharpens into realization. "Is this because I got dinner with her?"

"Yeah."

"We had a bit of a falling out and I hadn't seen her since the office party. Grabbing dinner was just a spontaneous attempt to patch up our friendship."

He sounds so genuine that any lingering suspicion evaporates, leaving me with sagging relief. The weight of that fear only fully registers in its absence. "Ok."

"I have something to admit, though," he says softly.

Oh, Jesus. "Ok?" I prompt.

"When I saw you last night laughing with that guy . . . I wanted to punch him in the face. It was like . . . it was like the rest of the world didn't even exist for a second. All I saw was this window of the future where I would let you go because it's the _right_ thing to do and you would end up with some fucker with a stupid haircut."

"He's, uh . . . he's married," I stammer. "We're friends."

He shakes his head. "It doesn't matter. If not him, then someone else. I _hated_ the thought of it. It just . . . fuck, it seeped into my soul last night. I've tried to avoid ever thinking of being with you – even after graduation – because I knew it would make not getting fucking arrested that much harder, but I can't do it anymore."

"You can't do it anymore," I repeat, like it's a particularly frustrating part of a riddle. What does that _mean_?

"I don't want to," he clarifies. "Once I realized you weren't coming anymore, I thought I would be relieved, but . . ."

"But?"

"But it made me realize how much I want to be with you."

"You . . ." – I take a deep breath – "you want to be with me?"

"I thought that was obvious," he mumbles. "That was the whole reason why I said – well, what I said."

"You told me you wanted to forget me because you wanted to be with me?" I repeat skeptically.

"Ok, I sound like a fucking idiot when you say it like that, but basically, yes. When you told me about your mom being accepting . . . I don't know, I think I finally realized that I was fighting a losing battle over whether or not I would ask you out – like it was just a question of _when_ rather than _if_ I would break the law. At that moment, I _did_ want to forget you. I wanted to be a normal teacher just doing his job not in any danger of legal trouble. But last night . . . well, like I said, I can't pretend anymore that I don't want you."

"Not just physically?" I prompt, leaning across the table now with the weight of my anxiety. "I don't want to be your fuck buddy."

"I've never thought of you that way," he says seriously. "It's never been about sex."

I raise my eyebrows so high that I feel like they'll arch off my forehead.

"I mean it's never _just_ been about sex," he says hastily. "Obviously, I'm attracted to you physically, but I lo – um, like you as a person and you know why I haven't been able to act on that."

"I know," I say, pretending I didn't hear him almost say 'love.' Mulling over his words, I finally take a sip of the tea he purchased for me. I've let the tea bag infuse for too long, but the warmth is nice.

"What are you thinking?" he asks when my silence continues.

"I'm thinking it's still seven months until graduation," I say pointedly.

"I'll wait," he says calmly.

My mouth opens and shuts several times, grasping for the meaning of his words – like I can't possibly be interpreting correctly. "You'll what?"

"If you want me to," he adds.

I blink at him for lack of a coherent response. He'll wait for me? That easily? We'll sit in that tiny office for months knowing that at the end we'll be together? No, I wouldn't get to have _all_ of him – not yet, anyway – but the promise of having him one day . . .

"Edward, you can't just . . ." I close my eyes, overcome for a moment. I actually feel faint.

"I can't what?"

"You have to mean this," I say, my voice shaking. "With all the risks and how far away graduation is . . . if we're doing this, then I want to do it for real. I can't take any more cold shoulders or emotional rollercoasters or miscommunication. My heart is just too . . . god, you have to mean it, ok?"

"Isabella Swan, I have never meant anything more in my entire life."

Maybe I knew that already. He's always been aware of the stakes – he wouldn't be sitting here with me with those puppy dog eyes otherwise.

"Ok," I say finally.

"Ok?" he repeats. "You want this?"

"I want this."

A smile lights his face. "Really?"

It's infectious – I'm smiling, too, even though my heart feels ready to burst from how quickly it's beating. "Really."

He exhales loudly. I do, too. We just breathe together for a while, staring, both awestruck by the other. The enormity of this . . . well, I'm blown away. This man wants me – despite all the potential risks and the insane amount of patience required. He's mine. Mostly.

I break first. "What now?"

"I don't know," he laughs, eyes twinkling. There's an unexpected mirth to his bearing now. "I didn't think I'd make it this far."

"Why?" Haven't I always been clear about my desire for him?

"We haven't seen each other in nearly a month and after what I said . . . I didn't know what to expect or how you felt anymore."

"I'm sorry," I sigh again. "I didn't handle that whole situation well and I promise –."

"Stop apologizing. It doesn't matter now. I should be the one saying sorry over and over again anyway." Then – slowly, deliberately – he places his hand on top of mine.

In an instant, seven months sounds like an eternity. The warmth of his hand feels so vital on my skin and I want more contact. I've already felt his kisses, felt his hands – and more than just his hands – on my body. I want more. After all, he's mine. Sort of.

Perhaps the look on my face is too transparent because he retracts his palm. He analyzes me for a long moment. "We're fucked, aren't we?"

Considering the tingly skin on my hand for a moment, I nod and look directly into his eyes. "Yup."

*V*V*V*V*V*


	16. Eleven

*V*V*V*V*V*

"Hey, how was school?" my mom asks me perfunctorily when I arrive home, not questioning why I'm three hours late.

"Um," I say.

Yup, I have her attention now. "It's the English teacher, isn't it?"

Jeez, my face must be ridiculously transparent. "Yeah, about that . . ."

"I thought you were avoiding him. Have you talked to him?"

"I _was_ avoiding him, but he asked me to come back and we ended up talking and . . . uh . . . well, he told me he would wait for me to graduate. You know, to date."

"Oh, boy," she groans, discarding her knitting in favor of rubbing her temples with both hands. "What did you say?"

I cringe, staring at my feet.

" _Bella,_ " she prompts again, knowing my answer.

"Of course I said yes," I burst out, flopping onto the couch besides her.

"Oh, Bella," she says again, softer this time.

"I know you're upset and I'm fully aware that there are so many risks involved, but I can't change my heart, Mom. You know how it was with Daddy – that you just knew? I mean, I don't know if it will last with Edward because there are so many obstacles in our way, but I know what I feel right now and I know that if he was anybody but my teacher, we would be together already."

At the end of my ranting explanation, she blinks at me once and calmly asks, "What does he like to eat?"

Her question throws me off. "What?"

"He's coming over for dinner," she states decisively and uncompromisingly.

"You're not going to report him to the police or forbid me from seeing him?" Honestly, those have been the two scenarios running through my head – even if she _did_ give me permission.

When she sighs, she looks like she's aged ten years. "Your grandmother gave me a choice when I started dating your father. She didn't like that he was so much older and a police officer – she thought it was too dangerous and unpredictable, which, it turns out she was right about – and she told me that I could either have a relationship with her or with him."

"Oh my god," I say, thinking of the sweet, little, old lady I remember as my grandmother – the woman I'm named after, for god's sake. "Gran said that?"

"Yes, she did. I picked your father, obviously," she says curtly. "We didn't speak for nine years until just before you were born. I wanted her to know her grandchild and I reached out finally. And you know what? We both sobbed for days, apologizing over and over. She regretted that ultimatum for the rest of her life, Bella. She was with me in the delivery room when you were born and the moment she saw you, she knew I had made the choice that was right for me. I swear, once she gave Charlie a chance and got to know him, I think she liked him better than she liked me."

The story stuns me because it does not at all fit in with my heuristics of the relationship between my mother and grandmother or even my father. "Why haven't you ever told me this?"

"Because I didn't want you to think of her that way. She changed so much at the end and especially right now I realize that she was just trying to protect me from what she thought would break my heart. When Charlie got shot . . . my god, Bella," she breathes, tears in her eyes, "I thought of everything my mother had ever warned me about and even then, I still wouldn't have chosen differently, knowing I wouldn't grow old with him."

I just shake my head, speechless.

"What I'm trying to say is that no, I'm not going to forbid you from being with him. I'm not going to make the same mistake my mother did. What I _am_ going to do is get to know this man and make it _excruciatingly_ clear that I will hunt him down and jam these knitting needles into some unsavory places if he hurts my baby girl or does _anything_ to put your reputation or future at risk." The way her brows arch amidst her utterly sincere death threat is chilling.

"Ok," I say slowly.

"You absolutely can not do anything to put yourself at risk either. You have, what, six or seven months left? This town is too small for carelessness because even if I am being understanding, there is nothing I can do to protect your reputation or that man's job if something happens."

"I know," I say hollowly.

"I'm serious, Bella. He could face criminal charges."

"Mom, _I know._ Edward and I talked about that today – about how we're going to handle being around each other and waiting without ruining everything." No, it wasn't the best note to end on, but we spent at least half an hour discussing some ground rules about physical contact, communication, boundaries, etc. Basically, cold turkey for seven months – lord help me.

She exhales loudly, the intensity of her speech fading. Rising to her feet, she strides to me and puts her hands on my shoulders. "It's going to be ok. I've told you all along – I just want you to be happy. Even though you're scaring the shit out of me, I trust you, ok?"

I nod solemnly, hugging her. "I'm scared, too, but your acceptance . . . that means everything to me."

"And Bella?"

I pull back, seeing the steely glint in her eyes. "Yes?"

"I wasn't kidding about inviting him to dinner."

*V*V*V*V*V*

"Are you _actually_ going to wait until the end of the school year or is that just something you told your mom?" Alice asks at lunch the next day, biting into a celery stick her mother packed for her.

"That's the plan."

She shakes her head. "You're crazy." All considered, I feel like she took the news of my interaction with Edward far too casually, not at all surprised when I called her last night. She told me she knew it was going to happen – one of her _feelings._

"I think that's a lot less crazy than getting him fired. Besides, my mom was pretty clear about her line there and the fact that she was even considering the idea of us dating is huge."

"I think it's super smart, though. It makes him seem very honest and open, like he's purposefully making himself uncomfortable just to show your mom that he's not a creep."

"Hopefully she sees that."

"Jeez, knowing what you're going through makes me feel a little less nervous about having dinner with Jasper's dad next week."

"Wait, you didn't tell me that!" I exclaim. "What happened?"

"His dad invited us to dinner at his house last night. I think we're going next Sunday."

I'm relieved that she hasn't known for long, that this isn't something I've been too self-absorbed to pay attention to. "How are you feeling about it?"

She shrugs, biting another celery stick. "I'm nervous, obviously. I mean, Jasper said his dad had a really hard time with the age thing at first, but he's come around."

"Once he actually gets to know you, there's no way he won't like you," I say without hesitation. Alice has that kind of charm to her. She's bubbly and sharp enough to win over anyone.

She squeezes my hand. "Thanks, Jelly Belly. I kind of feel like I'm paving the way for when Edward tells him about _you_ ," she laughs.

I cringe. "God, I don't even want to think about that yet. Dealing with my mom is enough for now." I shake my head. "When are you going to tell your parents about Jasper?"

Alice just groans in response and I nod understandingly. Mrs. Brandon is emotionally turbulent, nitpicky, and conservative in her life views. I can't imagine a twenty-two year old man that bartends on weekends being taken lightly in the Brandon household.

"Well, you know my mom would take you in a heartbeat if you get kicked out." Sadly, I'm not even speaking from assumption. Alice has stayed with us twice after being temporarily kicked out over getting her ears pierced without permission – the same night I got my nipple piercings done – and when her mom caught her making out with Tyler Crowley in her room once.

Alice gives me a long look, like she's recalling the same travesties I am. "I'm so glad you're my best friend." Her voice is unusually serious enough that I put my arms around her.

"I am, too. Are you ok?"

She swallows and nods. "Yes, I'm just glad I have you."

"Me, too."

"Sharpies," she laughs.

"Sharpies," I confirm.

The bell rings and I give Alice a parting wave, practically skipping off to Edward. Everything is so different now. We went from zero contact to having a secret quasi-relationship in such a short period of time. Part of me dreads the uncertainty of it all – not knowing how to act, not wanting to push boundaries, not knowing how it will end – but another part is exulting in the possibilities.

"My mom wants you to come to dinner and wants to know what you like to eat," I say by way of greeting when I open Edward's office door.

He coughs, eyes wide. "I assume telling her went well then?"

"My mom is incredible," I say with a sense of wonder, feeling especially strongly after thinking about how different things would be if I had Mrs. Brandon for a mother instead. "She told me she didn't want to make me choose between you or her because that's what my grandma did to her and she wants to meet you before passing judgment. I mean, she was still worried obviously because this could go so badly, but she's being open-minded."

He nods seriously, a military general gathering intelligence about enemy lines. "I figured. Considering I still have my job, though, I'd say everything is going very well."

I don't find his joke amusing. "I worry about that every day."

"I do, too," he says conciliatorily. "I've thought about quitting and trying to find another job."

"Oh my god," I exclaim, an edge of panic in my voice. I don't want him to leave, don't want to be the cause of his resignation.

"Don't worry. It's more of a last resort. They would probably suspend my teaching license for a year if I broke from the contract like that."

"Then you _really_ can't quit."

"It's not like I have tenure. Maybe I would quit after you graduate," he muses aloud. Fixing his eyes on me and watching carefully, he adds, "Depending on where you go to college."

I freeze. We decided to eventually date yesterday and now he's talking about moving with me when I go to school? Is he that serious about me? I turn it over in my head for a moment, wondering if I should feel scared or uncomfortable – but I only feel relief. This is what I signed up for. He wants to be with me. He's talking about this like it's for the long haul, like I'm not just some stupid high school girl that got caught up in his good looks, like he's taking our impending togetherness seriously. I might be in love with him.

He's analyzing my reaction, so I nonchalantly say, "I've been looking at Northwestern."

The crease in his forehead disappears as his expression eases. "Evanston, huh? I was born in Chicago, you know."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I lived there until I was three and then we moved when Jasper was born."

God, it's still so weird to hear him mention Jasper – they're just not cohesive in my head. "Do you remember it at all?"

"Only a few flashes. I remember what the steps looked like outside of our apartment and the playground nearby had this big, green caterpillar thing that you could climb." He pauses. "I have this image of my mother sitting by the window in the kitchen and looking out."

I swallow. "What did she look like?"

Without breaking eye contact, he reaches for his wallet, flipping it open and handing it to me. A small, worn photo of a beautiful woman with green eyes and curly, red hair smiles at me. Honestly, she reminds me of Tori with her hair, but the angle of her eyes and cheekbones is all Edward.

"She looks like you."

He shrugs, taking back the wallet.

"How old were you?"

"Four."

"Sucks, doesn't it?" I sigh.

My reaction surprises him until realization lightens his face. "Your dad?" he guesses.

"Yeah. He died when I was five."

We stare at each other in a moment of connectedness, realizing the similarity of our life stories. I suppose it's a shitty thing to bond over, but I'll take it.

"How did he –?"

"He got shot during a traffic stop," I say it without inflection, having had to explain myself too often. I only remember his funeral in snapshots – him lying so still in the coffin he could have been sleeping, the sickly sweet smell of the flowers around him, how waxy his skin felt when I touched his hand. It feels like a dream.

"He was a police officer?"

"Yeah."

"We don't have to . . . we can talk about something else if you want. I've never liked talking about my mom."

"I'm ok. This has just been a fact of my life – and I don't mind sharing it with you."

"Is he why you're so mature?"

I shrug. "I'm sure it contributed. My mom had us both go to grief counseling right after, so I imagine being made to identify and communicate my feelings so young helped a lot. Besides, just understanding death at that age kind of puts you in a weird social place amongst peers."

"How did you ever date my brother?" he asks out of the blue, staring at me with curiosity and disbelief. The way it bursts out of him makes me think he's been wondering it for a while.

"Excuse me?"

"I know him. I know he wouldn't understand about your dad or how it affected you. He never understood about my mom. Honestly, how did you date him? I can't imagine you two lasting."

"We _didn't_ last," I point out bluntly. Really, I'm just uncomfortable at his line of questioning. "And no, we didn't talk about my dad. We didn't talk much at all, actually," I mutter, remembering how we were too busy having sex to get into childhood traumas.

Edward's face darkens, probably correctly assuming the reason for our lack of conversation.

"I dated him because he was fun," I say honestly. "He made me laugh and he made me feel special and desired – well, up until he dumped me."

"He's an idiot," Edward says decisively.

"Sometimes. I think he just hasn't figured out relationship stuff yet."

"And you have?"

I shake my head. "Of course not." I'm the poster child for horrific decisions in that regard. "I have a terrible track record in choosing completely unavailable partners – you included, no offense. I mean, my only actual relationship was with Emmett and we only dated for four months."

"Then how bad can your track record be? You're so y–," he cuts off.

"Young," I finish for him when he chickens out. "I know I am, but that doesn't mean I don't have at least a _bit_ of experience."

"What kind of experience?" he asks softly.

I guess I should have known we'd reach dangerous territory in under five minutes. "You'll have to get me significantly intoxicated to get into all of that," I say, thinking of having to explain my relationship with his brother's girlfriend or even my brief flirtation with his father.

"That bad?"

I just look at him. I am not ready for that conversation.

"Speaking of intoxication, is that a habit of yours?"

Hearing the implicit judgment in his tone, I carefully say, "I have had alcohol five times in my entire life. Twice with Alice, twice at Volterra, and once at the office party."

His eyes narrow. "Were you drunk that night?"

"Which one?"

"The night in my car."

"I had a few drinks, yes, but I knew what I was doing," I say diplomatically, imagining that night through a completely different lens – a lens where I'm perceived as drunkenly blowing him in a car instead of acting on my passion as a consenting adult. God, I hope he doesn't see me that way.

His lips purse, but he nods.

"Why don't you drink?"

"My mom died in a drunk driving accident and I can't drink much anyway with my medication." Before I can even debate whether I should ask him what kind of medication, he adds, "Anti-depressants."

"I was on those for a while, too," I admit so he doesn't feel vulnerable.

He shrugs. "I'm not ashamed of it."

"I didn't mean to imply that –."

"I'm not offended. I'm just saying it's not a big deal."

"I agree," I say softly, my skin prickling with unease. "We've, uh . . . we're a bit off-topic."

He chuckles. "Are we? I didn't realize we had a topic."

"I guess not."

"Unless you want to tell me about your exes," he prompts, though his eyes twinkle with humor.

"Would you like to talk about _your_ exes instead?" I ask him cheerfully, deflecting his question.

Although I hope for him to back down from my challenge, his eyes narrow. "What do you want to know?"

Fuck. "I don't know," I admit.

He leans back in his chair, waving his hands in a wide motion. "Open book," he says. Well, that's new. How can I resist such an invitation?

"How many women have you been with?"

"Ten."

"Including me?"

"Eleven," he amends. Considering his looks, eleven isn't a terrible number.

"I suppose I don't count yet," I acknowledge. We haven't had sex, after all.

"You count," he disagrees. "Believe me, there have been many times I wish you didn't, but you count."

"That blowjob did it, huh?"

"The best I've had," he says solemnly.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

I grin at him, flattered. Emmett said the same thing as well, though I feel guilty remembering. "Do you think about it a lot?" I ask.

He groans. "I'm not answering that."

I'm actually smirking at him. Maybe knowing he wants me has emboldened me too much. My mother's words about not taking any risks at school come back to me – and I'm pretty sure talking about that time I blew him counts as risky – but we're so alone in his tiny office, insulated from the outside world.

He narrows his eyes at my smug expression, but his smile ruins any semblance of irritation. "You're going to be a monster for the next seven months, aren't you?"

I beam at him, completely self-satisfied. "Oh, way longer than seven months."

He shakes his head, but I know he's hiding amusement. "All right, what about you?"

"What about me what?"

"Has it . . . has it just been Emmett?"

"No," I admit shyly. This piques his interest, but before he can ask, I say, "And yes, that falls into the same category of getting me drunk first." Somehow, I can't imagine admitting to sleeping with both his brother _and_ his _other_ brother's girlfriend going over well.

He looks at me with open curiosity and a touch of concern. "Look, I already know about Emmett and I'm still here. How bad could it be?"

I sigh. He has a point. "I promise I'll tell you, but not right now, ok?"

"Because we're at school?"

"Because it's a long story."

After a long pause in which his brows furrow, unfurrow, and furrow again, he delicately says, "Maybe we should meet somewhere outside of school then. Not today, obviously, but, you know . . . another day."

Why am I blushing? I shouldn't be. I'm actually thrilled at the prospect of seeing him outside of school, of being on neutral ground where we're equals. Maybe I'm embarrassed because my first instinct is to reply that I have to ask my mother – because in reality I'm still a teenager that lives at home.

"I'd like that," I murmur, easing the look of uncertainty on his face. "Maybe the, uh, the coffee shop again?"

"Did you like it there?"

"I hear the cinnamon rolls are really good," I jest – as if I didn't eat the entire thing.

He rolls his eyes, but smiles. "It's a date."

*V*V*V*V*V*

 **To all of you leaving me reviews (even you future readers, long after this story is completed), just know that I appreciate it endlessly.**


	17. Meet the Parent

*V*V*V*V*V*

"Mom, chill out," I beg. I have never seen my mother this frazzled before, whirling around the kitchen with a pot on every single burner, frantically cleaning and dusting between stirring – all with a rare full face of makeup.

"He's not the only one with something to prove," she mutters, aggressively sautéing some onions.

"What does that mean?"

She shakes her head at me, blowing hair out of her face. "What time is he coming?" she asks for the third time.

At that moment, the doorbell rings.

"Right now, apparently," I answer, bolting out of my seat and then reminding myself to not run to the door. I have excess nervous energy, too.

When I open the door, Edward is fiddling with the tip of his tie with one hand and combing through his hair with the other. Still, he offers me a crooked smile when he sees me. "Hey. You look nice."

Having changed into a dress for dinner, I self-consciously smooth down the front. "Thank you. So do you. Um, come on in."

His eyes are alert and curious as he enters my home, taking in details haphazardly. But his flicking gaze comes to a halt at my mother framed in the doorway to the kitchen.

"Hello, Mrs. Swan," Edward says politely, offering his hand.

Her eyebrows drift upwards in surprise as she examines him, taking stock. "Call me Renee, please. It's nice to meet you, Edward."

"Thank you for inviting me to dinner. It smells amazing." I think the idea that his _invitation_ was anything less than mandatory is generous, but I appreciate his manners. He gives her an easy smile that vividly reminds me of Carlisle's innate charm – I guess some things are genetic – and she can't help but smile back.

"Well, I just hope you're hungry because I made enough to feed every teacher in the district."

I cringe, but Edward doesn't bat an eye at the mention of his profession.

"I brought my appetite with me, so no worries there."

We follow after her into the kitchen, carefully not touching, sitting down at the table while she returns to her pots.

"So, where are you from, Edward?" she asks, glancing over her shoulder as she stirs.

"I was born in Chicago, but I've lived in Port Angeles for most of my life. My father started his publishing company there, so that's been home base."

"Bella has only had wonderful things to say about interning there."

"I'm glad. I actually did the same internship before I went to college. It's a good thing to have on your resume."

My mother stops stirring for a moment and fully turns towards us, pursing her lips in hesitation. "Speaking of college, I suppose I should just ask outright: what are your plans for when Bella goes to school in the fall?"

"Mom," I groan.

"Oh, come on. We can be open about this. I didn't ask him here just to feed him," she says patiently.

Before I can protest, Edward says, "The simple answer is that I'm not sure yet. Obviously, I want Bella to go to whichever college is best for her. If we need to do long-distance, that's fine." I remember his offer to find a job wherever I go, but can't blame him for not bringing it up right this second. Still, the idea of long-distance being "fine" like he's already thought through all of this is news to me.

"Good answer," my mom says, offering him a smile. A real smile. He's won her over already.

With that out of the way, she starts setting out the food. Steak with onions and mushrooms, mashed potatoes, broiled veggies, and a homemade steak sauce fill the table. It's like my mother has become an alien – an alien that cooks.

"Don't be shy. Go ahead and start eating."

"This looks amazing," Edward says genuinely, tucking in.

The craziest thing about dinner is that it's not an awful affair. Edward asks my mom about her accounting job, charms her with some anecdotes that I've never heard about his first year of teaching, and mentions several times how smart I am, how insightful I am in working with other students, how at ease I am with tutoring. It makes me blush and worry about making our student-teacher relationship more salient, but my mom eats it up. Of course, she still does a full-blown Spanish Inquisition about where he went to college, what his hobbies are, his familial relationships, and his long-term goals – but it's all pleasant somehow. Maybe because Edward gives her some damn good answers.

It isn't until we're all comfortably full – or maybe uncomfortably in Edward's case since he wolfed down at least three helpings of everything like a monster – and considerably more at ease that my mom asks Edward if he's been to some new bookshop in Port Angeles.

"I've visited once. I've thought of taking Bella there, actually – if that's ok with you, of course."

My mom quirks her mouth and takes a sip from her diet coke, keeping us in suspense. It's cruel, really, considering how important her answer is. "You know, when Bella first told me about you, I was very clear that I wouldn't support any relationship while she was still in high school."

"Renee, I didn't mean any disrespect. I –."

"However, I can see now that I would be insane to try to prevent you from dating," she says calmly.

"I wouldn't try to be with her behind your b –.  
"No, no," she interrupts, "that's not what I meant. I mean that I can see you care about each other and things are already in motion."

I suppose _in motion_ isn't a bad way to phrase the orbit we always seem drawn into around each other. "Mom, why don't you just tell us what you're allowing?" I prompt.

She rolls her eyes at me. "Relax. I'm not going to be some Nazi about the dating stuff," she assures me. Looking at Edward, she adds, "I don't know if Bella told you that her father and I were nine years apart, but believe me, I'm not one to judge age differences."

"No, she didn't tell me that," Edward says softly, shooting me a furtive glance.

I just shrug at him; it didn't come up.

"Then I'm glad I said it. I want you to understand that I have no problem with your age or you as a person. Like I said, I can see that you care about Bella. But let's be clear that, age differences aside, she is an eighteen-year-old girl – _my_ eighteen-year-old girl – with an incredible future ahead of her, regardless of whether you're in it or not, and I will have no hesitation about starting World War III if you put that at risk. And I don't think I have to elaborate what kinds of activities would be putting her at risk."

"No, you don't," Edward says, flushed, but solemn. "I mean, I would never want to put Bella in that position anyway, but considering my job . . . well, it's not something I would be careless about. She and I have agreed that our relationship will not have, um . . . a _physical_ aspect until she's graduated."

I'm getting sick of them talking like I'm not in the room, but it's not exactly like I want to jump in when they're both discussing my sex life – or lack thereof – at the dinner table.

"I know. I believe you. If I didn't, you wouldn't be sitting here right now. Because of that, I'm not going to stand in the way of you two dating. But for god's sake, don't even look at each other too much anywhere near Forks because anybody with eyes could you two are crazy about each other," she says exasperatedly.

I glance at Edward and realize we're leaning towards each other in mirror postures, our hands nearly touching on the table; we both straighten simultaneously with guilty expressions. Are we that obvious? Or is it just my mom being perceptive?

We sit in silence for what feels like an eternity, my mother's proclamation settling over us like one of her heavy, woolen blankets.

Finally, Edward says, "So I guess I'll take Bella to that bookstore sometime then."

My mom laughs and I feel more relaxed than I have all evening.

*V*V*V*V*V*

"It wasn't too awful, was it?" I ask, stepping out onto the porch under the pretense of walking Edward to his car.

"Not at all," he assures me, pausing at the front door with me. "She gave us way more slack than I even thought to hope for. She's . . . she's something else."

"Yeah, she's been really understanding."

His lips quirk knowingly, a hint of amusement on his face. "You're a lot like her, you know."

"In what way?" I ask, narrowing my eyes.

"You both get straight to the point. I see where you get your directness. Plus there's this warmth that you both have."

I laugh. "A warmth, huh?"

"Practically toasty," he says with mock solemnity.

"I'm feeling pretty warm right now, actually," I admit, fanning myself after an hour of anxiety.

"Your chest is all flushed."

I look at his eyes, but he's definitely caught up in the aforementioned region, causing my smile to widen. He may have been waxing poetically about our lack of _physical aspects_ , but nothing can detract from our attraction. He clears his throat, eyes dancing around, away, askance – anywhere but my boobs.

"Thank you so much for coming," I say softly, taking pity on his awkwardness. "I know it's not an ideal part of being with a teenager, but –."

"It was fine," he says. "Don't worry, ok?"

I nod because he's a grown man. He knows what he's getting into. "Ok."

"I should, uh . . ." He gestures at his car.

"Oh, right. Of course." Before I can think too much about it, I walk with him to his car right up to the driver's side, not wanting to be separated from him yet. But seeing his vehicle from this proximity reminds me of the only other time I was this close to it.

He catches my eye and whispers, "I think about it every time I get in the car."

My eyes widen, goose bumps rising on my skin. It's a ridiculous reaction to hearing he has sexual thoughts about me – like that was some big mystery – but the way he says it like a secret, leaning into my ear, is enough to make my stomach flutter. Especially knowing we can't act on it.

"God, go home already," I groan. "You're killing me."

He smirks. "Good night, Bella."

"See you Monday," I murmur. I can't help but frown. After everything that's happened, the thought of being apart from him until Monday – until we have to act professionally around each other again – is abhorrent.

"Don't look so sad. I'll text you."

"You will?"

"Your number is in your student file." He winks and the facial expression is so unexpectedly playful that I feel like I've never seen him before. It's like

Instead of allowing me to respond, he gets in his car, offers me a last mischievous look, and drives off. For a change, I'm the one left staring after him.

It isn't until his car disappears down the end of the block that I head back inside and find my mother cleaning up the last remnants of dinner.

"So, what did you think?" I ask, joining in clearing the table.

She makes a show of fanning her face. "You didn't tell me he was so attractive!"

"What can I say? I have good taste," I joke. "But seriously, are you ok?"

"He seems very respectful and intelligent. I liked that he doesn't want to hold you back from your education or anything," she concedes. "Like I said, it's not his age that worries me."

"I know, Mama. But the teacher thing is temporary."

She nods. "I know. I think everything will work out fine, baby. Besides, with the way he was looking at you . . ." She smiles knowingly.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

*V*V*V*V*V*


	18. Privacy Clause

**Just some fluff for good measure . . .**

*V*V*V*V*V*

The next day when I arrive for my work shift, Jasper calls my name the moment I step out of the elevator.

Seeing his anxious, avuncular face makes me roll my eyes because I know exactly what he wants to talk about.

"Ok, spill, Swan," he orders, shutting the door closed behind me. It's the most worked up I've ever seen him.

"About?" I ask innocently. I love this.

"You know what. Edward told me he was meeting your mom, but he didn't tell me how it went and the idiot isn't answering his phone."

I can't help the shit-eating smile plastered on my face, though I try to control the giggle bubbling up from my throat. "You know, the more time you spend with Alice, the more you act like her. This whole matchmaking thing is an interesting look on you."

He's aghast in a very un-Jasper-like kind of way. "Don't toy with me, Jack. You have information and I need it."

At this, I guffaw for real. "It went really well. My mom interrogated him, but that was to be expected. Otherwise, she thinks he's great and she's fine with us dating – as long as we're far away from Forks and not having sex." I share this information easily, though it occurs to me if someone had told me several months ago that I would be casually discussing my love life with my boss – let alone discussing such things when I'm dating aforementioned boss' brother– I would have thought that person was crazy. But I suppose life is crazy because here we are, leaning together like gossipy, old ladies.

"Wow, your mom is awesome."

"Yeah," I agree. "I hear you are having dinner with your dad and Alice tomorrow, too."

He shakes his head. "Not this Sunday, but next."

"Oh, my bad. At least you have a week to prepare. Are you nervous?"

Another head shake. "No. It'll be fine. He was pissy with me at first, but he got over it when I reminded him he wasn't one to judge age differences given some of his past indiscretions," he says darkly.

God, I hope my name didn't come up with that whole flirting ordeal. "Ah, good. What's a little blackmail between family members?"

His expression lightens, smirking at me. "I like the way you think."

"That's why you pay me the big bucks. Speaking of which," I add, rummaging around in my bag and handing him a thick, spiral binder, "here is the manuscript you gave me on Wednesday."

Jasper stares at me. "Jesus, woman. You're like a machine. This is four hundred pages."

I shrug. "I liked it. Besides, I'm learning a lot from reading all of these."

"Man, if you were older, I'd hire you right now."

I toss my hair with a wink. "I'm going to remind you that you said that when I'm a broke college graduate."

"Mmhmm," he hums at me. "Better get to work before I change my mind," he teases, practically ushering me out.

"That's what I was trying to do before you kidnapped me in here!"

He does not deign to fake argue with me, shutting the door in my face with a smirk.

Doing what I'm told, I set to work on a new manuscript about the history of state politics in Washington. It's far more lackluster than my previous readings, but I can still edit hanging clauses and comma splices regardless of the content.

Around nine in the morning after an hour of work, my phone buzzes in my pocket. Though I hesitate to look at my screen, the strong suspicion I have regarding the sender overrides my work ethic.

 _I dreamt about you._

His number is not saved to my phone yet, of course.

 _Sorry, which of my many admirers is this? ;)_

 _The best you've ever had, I've been told._

I grin at my tiny screen, wanting to hug my phone to my chest. Deciding to not draw out my hard to get act, I text back, _Ah, my favorite one. Good morning, Edward. :)_

 _Good morning, Isabella. :)_

 _Now, about this dream . . ._

 _Hmmm, maybe I'll tell you over dinner._

Holy shit. I think I've actually begun to sweat. Or drool. Maybe both.

 _Tonight?_

 _Yes – if you're not too wrapped up in all your other "admirers." ;)_

 _I can always make time for my number one – as long as it's after four o'clock because I have work until then._

 _How about five o'clock then? That should give you enough time to drive._

 _Depends on the location of our little rendezvous._

There's a longer pause before he answers, _I know a place in Hurricane Ridge. It's far enough away that no one will know us._

 _I'd love to, but I have to ask my mom first._ I cringe as I send it, but that is our reality.

 _No problem. Just let me know._

God, he's sweet.

"What's gotten into you, _zaika_?" Demetri asks as he walks by my little work area, catching me guiltily stashing my phone. "You're grinning like you won the lottery."

"It's just a great day today," I say enthusiastically.

This draws a laugh, but not from Demetri. Glancing behind him, I see Tori looking at me, covering her mouth with her hand to hide her amusement. Zeroing in on her mischievous eye contact before she looks back at her computer, my good mood evaporates because I'm now 95% confident that she knows why I'm so happy. Maybe Edward is better friends with her than I thought.

Demetri doesn't notice the calculations I've made in a split second, continuing on to say, "Wow, whatever you're on, I want some."

"Sorry, my shit is way too expensive to share," I force myself to joke.

He shakes his head in amusement before continuing on his way and I pretend to actually do what I'm paid a ridiculously small stipend to do. However, internally, I'm considering the possibility that Tori knows about my relationship with Edward. Even if he told her, she might not know all of it – like that I'm sort of his student. But she must know about the age difference. She and Edward must be much closer than Edward let on.

Still, her laugh confuses me. Is she happy for us? Is she plotting revenge on me for stealing her fuck buddy? Or am I just insane and misreading her amusement? Maybe she thought my comment was funny for some reason and has no idea about Edward.

I effectively spend the rest of my day making myself crazy by doing shoddy reconnaissance work in between editing, frequently glancing over at Tori's desk to see if she's looking at me any differently. She barely spares me a glance, though – because she's working like she's actually supposed to.

By the time the day has ended, I'm barely excited for my dinner with Edward anymore, half-heartedly smoothing down my hair in my truck's rearview mirror. I didn't think we'd have to readdress the secrecy clause of our relationship so soon.

When I pull up to the restaurant Edward picked, I'm grateful to be donning my work outfit because this place is not a jeans and t-shirt kind of establishment. A doorman waits to clear the way for my entrance and a hostess is standing behind a golden-gilded podium inside. God, I hope Mr. My-Father-Owns-An-Entire-Company is paying for this.

"Hello, welcome to Francesa's," the hostess says professionally. She's blonde, a tad older than me, and sleekly dressed. "Do you have a reservation?"

"Uh," I hesitate, unsure. "I'm supposed to meet someone here. I don't know if he made a reservation, though."

She's unfazed, smiling mechanically. "Is there a name I could look up to check?"

"Um, maybe Masen?"

She taps a few keys on her podium computer and nods. "Yes, Masen for two at five o'clock. Mr. Masen has already been seated. Tiffany will show you to your table," she says, gesturing at yet another blonde passing by.

I'm led through a dimly lit dining room with white tablecloths, real candles, and fresh flowers at every table. The place is packed with mostly couples, though I see other people gathered in suits like they're ready for a business meeting. I suppose this is a good establishment to take clients to impress them. Of course, I suppose Edward is trying to impress me, too.

I think my heart stops when I see him – forget any anxiety I have about Tori. He's dressed in a dusky gray suit, far more formal than his usual school-wear, tucked into a corner booth that could probably fit eight people, grinning up at me with the most breathtaking smile.

Tiffany seats me by actually unfolding my napkin and placing it in my lap – it's one of _those_ places – but I barely notice her. I'm sitting here with Edward Masen. On a date. Because we're dating. I wonder when the novelty of that will wear off.

"You look beautiful," Edward says. "I haven't seen you dressed like this before."

I suppose I wasn't dolled up enough last week when he stopped by the office. With my pencil skirt and the light blue cardigan that hints at cleavage, I can understand his appreciation. "Thank you. I'm glad I'm wearing something decent because this place is super fancy."

"Sorry, I should have warned you. I just . . . I don't know. I wanted to do a big gesture kind of thing for our first date."

I suck in a breath because he's so shy and sweet and perfect. "I didn't even think about this being our first date." I have the urge to raise a glass in toast, but I don't have a beverage yet.

"Yup," he says crisply, "it's official."

And then we're both bashful, fiddling with our napkins, readjusting our silverware. Even away from Forks, being out like this makes me nervous, increasing our risk of being discovered when there is still so much time before we reach the finish line.

"So, how was work?" he asks me, clearly looking for a subject change.

Naturally, he chooses the subject that worsens my hemming and hawing. "Uh, well, interesting."

His eyes scan me, catching my tone. "Interesting," he repeats pointedly.

Before I can elaborate, the waitress comes by to take our orders, leaving our conversation anxiously suspended. Not having looked at the menu, I pick the first pasta dish I see and try not to cringe at the price. Edward orders a steak and the waitress lingers a moment too long to stare at him before disappearing.

"You were saying?" Edward prompts immediately.

I exhale, telling myself to spit it out. "Did you happen to tell Tori about us?"

His face pales and his nostrils flare. "Did she say something to you?"

"I'm taking that as a yes," I mumble, waiting for him to contradict me. When he doesn't, I say, "No, she didn't say anything directly, but someone commented about how happy I was today and she laughed like she knew."

Relaxing a little, he appears more apologetic. "I'm sorry. I should have told you."

"Yes, you should have," I say simply, biting back the nasty, swirling thoughts at the tip of my tongue. "What exactly did you tell her?"

Pulling on the hair at the back of his head like he always does when he's nervous or distressed, he softly says, "Everything."

The breath whistles out of my mouth with the strength of my sigh. "Oh, boy," I murmur. Not that I'm one to judge because I went and told my mom, but at least I didn't tell someone I used to sleep with.

"I know, I know," Edward says anxiously. "I told her last week, though – when we went out to dinner, before you and I had decided to . . . well, you know. I was all shaken up over seeing you and she wouldn't leave me alone. She kept asking me why I was being weird and I . . . I don't know, it just came out. I hadn't talked to anyone about you besides Jasper and I was much more vague with him because he's my brother. Honestly, it was a relief to say all of that shit out loud and for her to tell me some hard truths."

Any frustration I have about our broken confidentiality melts away thinking about how difficult it would be to go through all of this without a friendly ear. God knows how I would have survived without being able to talk to Alice honestly and openly. "So what did she say about all this?"

Edward gives me a small smile. "She said she wanted me to be happy and that I should just ask you out already."

My eyebrows draw upwards. "Really?"

"Swear to god," he says, placing his hand over his heart. "Tori has had some really shitty relationship experiences, but she's a hopeless romantic inside. She said she could see how much I lo – um, was into you and that she knew you were mature enough to handle it."

I once again ignore him almost telling me he loves me. "I guess I have to write her a thank you card then," I mutter.

He laughs. "You just might. Although, I haven't spoken to her since Wednesday, so she doesn't know – or at least _didn't_ know – that we got together. Which is kind of why I didn't warn you, though I wasn't trying to keep it a secret. It just didn't cross my mind."

I shrug. "Well, I bet she knows we're together now after seeing my face. And it's fine. I forgive you. I was just worried about how many people might know or if she would tell anyone."

Edward shakes his head. "I think we're safe on that count. Tori is a good friend."

"A _very_ good friend," I try to joke to cover my jealousy. Petty as it is, I don't like the thought of him confiding in her or being emotionally close to her. It's bad enough knowing they've had sex.

Narrowing his eyes, he reminds me, "Not since I met you."

"You haven't gotten any in a long time then," I quip to break the tension.

Luckily, my bid works because his mouth drops open and then a reluctant smile follows. "A couple months isn't that bad."

"Maybe for you," I mutter. This is the longest I've gone without having sex since I was fifteen and fooling around with Alice. But maybe he's just trying to make me feel better about waiting so long.

"Oh, right. You have a mysterious past," he teases me, though the question is implicit in his tone.

I give him a look. "Yup."

"That you don't want to talk about."

"Yup."

"Hmm," he hums, regarding me with both curiosity and frustration.

Opting to cut short my monosyllabic responses, I say, "It's not exactly first date kind of material. Isn't there a rule that you're not supposed to talk about exes on the first date?" Never mind that I brought up Tori immediately. "Besides, I distinctly remember an intoxication clause."

His eyebrows rise. "Not budging on that one, huh?"

"Not tonight," I admit.

After regarding me to determine how serious I am, he says, "Ok. What would you like to talk about?"

A smile lights my face. "I want to hear about this dream you had."

He flushes with color and it occurs to me it's much easier to be brave over text. "I dreamed that we were driving down the coastline in this yellow convertible. We were both laughing about something and your hair was flying everywhere and the sunset was hitting your face. It was, um . . . very vivid," he finishes diffidently.

Although I felt an initial disappointment that he wasn't going to tell me about some erotic dream, I'm awestruck. The picture he paints is so peaceful, so idyllic. Suddenly, it's all I want – to drive somewhere with Edward away from all our problems. "That's a great dream," I say sincerely.

"I thought so," he agrees softly.

"Maybe someday."

"Spring break," he says impulsively. "I'll take you."

"Really?"

"Really."

*V*V*V*V*V*


	19. Sleepover

*V*V*V*V*V*

 **Two Months Later**

"What are you doing for the rest of Christmas break?" Alice asks me, lounging on my bed in pajamas even though it's three o'clock the day after our fourth annual end-of-the-semester sleepover.

I shrug. "Probably just hanging out with my mom and Edward." She allows him to come over two nights a week for chaperoned dates, though we still go out for the occasional movie or meal far away from Forks.

"Do you want to come hang out with Jasper and me sometime? He says he misses you," she says, laughing.

"Awww, I miss my cowboy, too," I whine at her. My internship ended in October and I haven't seen my honorary older brother since. "I would love that."

"Awesome. I was thinking maybe next Friday?"

"Oh, I can't do that day. I'm hanging out with Tori then."

Alice rolls her eyes at me. "I still can't believe you're friends with her."

"Oh, stop being jealous. She's cool," I defend, even though I can't believe it either. It's not exactly a friendship I initiated, but she pulled me aside before my last day and gave me an entire speech about how she was cheering on my relationship with Edward, how she would kill me if I hurt him, and how she thought I was smart to not bang him because Edward had – and I quote – _filled her in about everything_. . . yeah, it was a weird conversation. But I appreciated her frankness and she took me out for a drink afterwards. We laughed at the same shit and hated the same people at work, so our friendship just kind of happened. It makes Edward sweat a little to have two of his lady loves bonding, but I consider that a hilarious bonus.

"Whatever you say," Alice says. "So if you can't do Friday, what day?"

"Maybe Saturday?"

She shakes her head. "Carlisle wants us to come to some charity ball on Saturday."

" _Another_ one?"

Sighing, she says, "He just keeps inviting us to stuff."

"That's because he's still trying to make up for being shitty at first."

"Ugh, don't remind me." As charming as Carlisle is, he basically asked Jasper if he was a pedophile during their first dinner together and then gave Alice hell about keeping her relationship from her parents. In short, it did _not_ go well. Luckily, he came around after about two weeks of Jasper not speaking to him and has since gone off the deep end trying to be inclusive.

"Sorry. But at least you get to go to a ball now. No one's ever invited me to a ball before."

"Hey, if you feel like coming, be my guest. You could be Edward's date."

In response, I huff out a breath. She knows good and well that I can't go with Edward. Too many important people, too many business associates of Carlisle's, too many people that might ask the wrong questions. Not to mention Carlisle has no idea.

"Suit yourself," she says with a shrug.

"I'll just have to hang out with you and Jasper another time."

"We could double date!" Alice says with sudden enthusiasm.

I wince. "I don't know about –."

"Oh, come on! It'll be fun!"

"I'll ask Edward," I groan, thinking that will be the perfect excuse to turn her down. It's not like I don't want to have a double date or see Jasper, but things with Edward are still so new. We've barely figured out our own rhythm, let alone trying to balance with a whole other level of weirdness.

"Don't make that face," Alice chides.

"What face?"

"The face you make when you're trying to get out of something."

"I'm not trying to . . . ok, fine. I'm just nervous about it. He's been much more distant with me since the whole homecoming fiasco and –."

"I thought you guys worked that out!" she interrupts.

"We did," I assert quickly. "I mean, mostly. He's been better about not feeling like he's depriving me of some normal teenage experience, but I think hanging out with yet another student on a double date would be a bit much."

"Bellaaaah," she sings, "what's more teenager-ish than a double date?"

I sigh. I suck at saying no to her.

"Hey, look, if you're really not comfortable, that's fine," she says conciliatorily. "I just want everything to be relaxed, you know? I want it to be ok for all of us to hang out. I mean, if everything goes well, we'll all be in each others' lives a long time," she points out.

Exhaling once more, I say, "I'll ask him."

*V*V*V*V*V*

"I don't know, Bella," my mom sighs, looking up from her knitting.

"I don't understand why this is a big deal."

"Because going to his _house_ is very different than going out to a movie or something."

"Mom, what exactly are you worried about?" I prod. "Alice and Edward's brother are going to be there tonight and we're all going to watch some movies. We're not going to _do_ anything," I say pointedly.

"I don't know," she says again slowly, shaking her head.

"We have been completely platonic and followed all the rules and have respected your decisions. Why don't you trust me now?"

After a long pause, she blurts, "Mrs. Stanley told me that you and Edward seem awfully close."

I blink for a moment, uncomprehending. " _What_?"

"I ran into her when I went to buy some new boots. She said that Jessica said something to her about noticing how friendly you two are towards each other."

Immediately, I try to recall every time I've seen Jessica over the tutoring periods, reanalyzing my behavior. I feel like I barely even spoke to Edward whenever someone else was in the room. Maybe the occasional joke here or there, but nothing inappropriate. Unless she saw something?

But we've been incredibly cautious. Whenever we go out, we drive separately to some remote location far away from anywhere a Forks resident might wander. Easily the most suspicious part of our relationship is that Edward's car winds up parked in our driveway two nights a week, but we live on an isolated, private road. Who would even be around to see his car?

"Bella," my mom prompts.

"What?" I murmur. I can feel that I've paled.

"Are you ok?"

"What did you say back to her?" I demand, not answering her question.

"I said that it was nice to hear that because you've always spoken very highly of him."

I exhale. At least she handled it well.

"I don't think Mrs. Stanley meant anything by it – or at least she pretended not to once I answered her – but my point is that people are noticing. Maybe you need to take it easy with him."

I can't imagine what "easy" means to her considering Edward and I are practically martyrs in the name of chastity, but I shake my head anyway, feeling tears threaten. "Mom, we haven't done anything. I swear. We've been," – god, here come the waterworks – " _so_ careful."

"Oh, baby," she coos, dropping the knitting and holding out her arms for me. I sit next to her on the couch and let myself by enveloped by comfort and warmth. "This is not the end of the world. Someone just mentioned that you two are friends. That's it. I don't think there's any harm done – not yet, at least."

"The thought of someone finding out . . . god, I'm terrified," I sniffle.

"I know. I know. I'm very proud of how you've handled everything so far and how responsible you've been. But it's hard to hide when you're in love," she says softly.

"I guess."

Her arms linger around me for another moment before she exhales. "You can go to his house."

"But I thought you said –."

She shakes her head. "Honestly, you're probably in more danger at school every day than in Clallum Bay," she admits. "I was just feeling protective."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. It kills me when you cry. Just be safe, ok? The roads are pretty bad right now from all the snow. And say hi to Alice for me."

*V*V*V*V*V*

"Bella," Edward says for probably the fifth time, elbowing me.

"Huh?"

"I asked what movie you wanted to watch next. It's your turn to pick," he says delicately, though I can see the concern etched in his face. Although I'm not turned towards Alice or Jasper, I can feel their eyes on me, too.

"How about _The Shining_?" I mumble, picking from one of the movies I remember Edward listing off from his prodigious collection.

"That's a classic," Jasper says with approval.

"And maybe a bit too close to home considering the weather," Edward adds, inclining his head to the window where the snow is blowing horizontally.

"You picked a shitty day to do this," Jasper jokingly accuses.

Edward rolls his eyes. "I only picked today because you're busy all the goddamn time working to inebriate the public," he fires back.

"It's a hard life catering to the intellectuals in the morning and the inebriates at night."

Normally, I would be enjoying their brotherly banter and perhaps even joining in, but I've barely spoken all night. Alice gives me a look, but it's not like she's been talkative either. Maybe we're both in a funk.

"I never understood why you took that job," Edward says.

"Because I'm a night owl and the tips are good. Besides, if I hadn't taken that job, I wouldn't have met Alice and you wouldn't have met . . . uh, never mind," Jasper finishes ever so elegantly, blushing and making panicked eye contact with me.

Edward tenses beside me, but everyone here knows exactly how Edward and I met. I shake off the embarrassment easily, though I feel that same shiver of discomfort at having such a topic mentioned so openly. I suppose we've gotten too used to hiding.

"Are we watching the movie or not?" Alice pipes up helpfully. Thank god for my best friend, I think. Under the large blanket draped over all of us, I squeeze her leg in gratitude. She envelops my hand with hers and threads our fingers together, offering me a small smile.

Once the movie is on and we're all settled into our respective spots again, haphazardly passing around a bowl of popcorn, I find myself relaxing despite the whole Jessica thing weighing on me. I feel safe. Tucked under Edward's arm with Alice's hand in mine, it occurs to me that this all seems so normal. I can easily picture our futures together, two couples frequently double dating and enjoying our time together, just like Alice said. Awkward mentions of our scandalous past aside, there's a special kind of ease in being with all these people I love.

It's a little over half an hour into the movie when my phone starts vibrating in my pocket.

"Oh, shoot, sorry," I mumble, removing the blanket from Edward's side to let myself out. Of course, I glance down and he's definitely hard. God, drool.

Luckily, my lustful thoughts are impeded by the fact that it's my mother calling.

"Should we pause the movie for you?" Jasper asks.

"No, I'm good," I say, excusing myself to the kitchen to keep my interfering noise to a minimum. "Hello?" I answer.

"Hey, Bella."

"Mom, is everything ok?"

"Listen, I don't want you driving home."

"What?"

"I ran out to do some errands and the snow is so bad around Forks that my car wound up stuck in a snow bank."

"Oh my god!" I exclaim. "Are you ok? What can I do?"

"Nothing. I'm fine and the car's fine, but I had to call some of the Clearwaters to help tow it out."

"Jeez, thank god for the Clearwaters," I mutter.

I nod at him.

"I know. It probably would have cost a couple hundred otherwise."

"So what do you want me to do?"

There's a long pause before she exhales loudly. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I want you to spend the night at Edward's. I shouldn't have let you go in the first place, but I didn't realize how bad the roads would be and I don't want you driving home right now."

"Wow."

"I know," she says tartly. "Believe me, it wasn't my first choice, but considering my car just got yanked out of a ditch, I'd rather not risk your safety."

For a moment, I am absolutely overwhelmed with love for my mother. "Mom, this means a lot to me."

"Honey, I just –."

"I know you just want me to be safe, but you trusting me is . . . it just means a lot." Especially after our conversation earlier tonight.

"Oh, Bella," she sighs sweetly.

"I love you. I'll give you a call back in the morning and we can see how the roads are."

"I love you, too, Bella. Make sure Alice is safe, too."

"I will. Don't worry."

"Ok, baby. I'll talk to you soon."

"Ok, bye."

Upon hanging up and returning to the living room, Edward pauses the movie and the three of them crane their heads at me.

"Everything ok?" Edward asks.

"So, my mom wants me to spend the night here because the roads aren't safe. She said her car skidded into a ditch because it's so icy."

"Jesus, is she ok?"

"Yeah, she's fine and the car's fine, but she doesn't want me driving right now." I'm trying not to smile. The thought of a sleepover at Edward's is beyond anything I dared to hope – at least not until after graduation.

"Your mom is the fucking coolest," Alice says with utter sincerity. "If it was my mom, she'd rather I die trying to drive home than spend a night anywhere near a man." Sadly, I don't even think that's hyperbole.

"Speaking of which, what are your plans?" I ask her. "My mom wanted to make sure you're safe, too."

"We are just on the highway the whole time to Port Angeles," Jasper reasons. "It's probably already plowed and salted, so I don't think it's a big safety issue."

I shrug. "So Alice will just go home with you?"

They both nod at me. I suppose it's not a big deal since her mom thinks she's spending the night at my place anyway.

"And you'll stay with me," Edward pipes in, like that wasn't already obvious – though I suppose I never asked for permission. I could swear he looks nervous. Or maybe anxious?

"Right. So everything's settled," I say nonchalantly, like it's not a huge deal that I will be spending the night at his place.

"Right," Edward affirms softly.

It's decided that Alice and Jasper will leave at the end of the movie, but I find it difficult to pay attention as Jack Torrance loses his mind because I'm too busy losing mine. Honestly, I'm overthinking and making myself nervous, but I wonder if Edward and I will sleep in his bed or in separate beds – I'm pretty sure he has a guest bedroom – and if anything physical will happen. I can't deny that I want all sorts of delicious, devious, sexual things, but I don't delight in the notion of putting Edward into an uncomfortable position. He wasn't expecting me to spend the night and we've both been very clear about the rules – in fact, his arm around me right now is the most physical contact we've had since we decided to give this whole dating thing a try – so I don't want to make assumptions about tonight's activities. Besides, everything my mom told me about Jessica and Mrs. Stanley is still fresh and threatening to my baser impulses.

As Jack Torrance freezes in the maze – as Edward said, far too close to home with the frigid weather – Alice and Jasper begin to shift on the couch, readying themselves for departure.

"Good movie pick, Bella," Jasper says.

"It's one of my favorites," I admit. "Anyway, you guys drive carefully, ok?"

"We'll take it really slowly," he assures me.

"Text us when you get home," Edward orders, moving to stand and patting Jasper's back. He looks at Alice and hesitates, unsure how to say goodbye.

She goes in for a hug, never one to skimp on physical affection. "You're all right, Masen," she decides.

A surprised laugh erupts from his mouth, his arms gently wrapping around her. "Don't tell anyone, though. You might ruin my tough guy reputation."

She withdraws, rolling her eyes. "You're not fooling anyone."

He rolls his eyes back at her, but he's smiling. "Fair enough. Now get on the road before the snow gets any worse."

"All right, bye, man," Jasper says to Edward.

"Bye, Cowboy," I say, winking at him.

He scoops me up in a tight hug. "Bye, Jack. Don't be a stranger just because I don't pay you to hang out with me anymore."

"Technically, your _father_ paid me to hang out with –."

"Ok, smartass," he interrupts, smirking. "Maybe I'll call you Jack Torrance."

"Then I'd have to redrum you."

We both do the _redrum_ voice at each other for a bit before Edward interrupts, "Ok, ok, you guys are friends. We get it. Now quit stalling and start driving."

"No manners, this one," Jasper says to me in a stage whisper, winking even as he heads for the door. "Seriously, though, it was fun. We should all hang out again. Maybe my place next time."

"Sounds good," Edward agrees. "Drive safely. And you know you can always crash here if the roads are too shitty and you want to turn around."

"I know. See you soon."

"And text when you get there," Edward reminds him, holding the door as they shuffle out.

"We will. Have a good night, you two." He looks a little too smug as he says it and Edward rolls his eyes, shutting the door after him.

And then it's just the two of us in his home, alone for the first time all night with hours and hours ahead of us.

*V*V*V*V*V*


	20. Separately

*V*V*V*V*V*

Struck by the sudden silence and an atmospheric change so blatant that it feels almost physically harder to breathe, I stare at him. "Hey."

"Hey," he says back softly.

Trying not to remember that time in his car in too much detail, I swallow. "So what now?"

"Are you tired?"

"Not even a little," I admit. My heart is thumping desperately in my chest.

"Me neither. Maybe we could, uh, watch another movie? Or just talk? Or play a game? Or we could –."

"I'd like hot chocolate," I decide, cutting off his rambling list. "Uh, please, I mean."

"Hmm, I'll have to see if I have any."

"Oh, come on, it's a winter necessity," I tease.

He shrugs. "One way to find out." Leading the way towards the kitchen, he rummages through a few cabinets. Really, he has a giant kitchen for one person, but most of his cupboards are humorously empty. "Ha!" he finally says triumphantly, pulling out a singular packet of instant hot chocolate from the back of a cabinet.

"Wow, crisis averted. You're a hero."

"I'm signing autographs later," he agrees, handing me the prized package and a mug.

Of course, I ruin the moment by reading the fine print. "Um, this expired last year," I say shyly.

"Fuck. I haven't even lived here a year. That means I literally moved an expired packet of hot chocolate across county lines. I'm sorry."

I giggle at him. "Eh, who cares? This stuff lasts forever. It'll still taste fine."

He shrugs. "Whatever you say."

Opening up his refrigerator for the milk, I can't help but read that expiration label, too. "Dude, you're killing me," I laugh. "Your milk expired last month."

He groans, shutting the refrigerator for me out of embarrassment. "I don't have much of an excuse for that."

Thoroughly amused, I say, "I forgot I'm visiting a bachelor pad."

He snorts. "It's hardly a bachelor pad."

"Ok, Mr. Womanizer," I tease.

"Expired milk doesn't make me a womanizer."

"No, but the number ten does," I say mischievously.

"No fair," he complains.

"I never said I play fair," I laugh, filling my mug with water instead and popping it in the microwave.

"That's the problem with you youths today," he jokes. "No respect."

"And here I thought you liked my youth," I fire back, suggestively patting my ass and cocking my hip out.

His eyes widen and I realize I've gone too far.

Straightening, I cringe. "Ok, sorry. I didn't think that through." Maybe it's because we're never alone like this that sexual jokes come too readily – or maybe it's because it's all I can think about.

"No, uh, don't . . . don't apologize." He swallows. "I'm just not used to . . . well, it's new, that's all."

"Sorry. I've got a dirty brain up here," I mutter, tapping my forehead.

"Oh, I definitely knew that," he deadpans.

I smile, playfully hitting his forearm. "Rude."

"Just telling it like it is."

I shrug, conceding his point. "You've got me there."

The microwave beeps and I take out my freshly heated water, adding the hot chocolate powder and realizing too late I don't have a spoon for stirring. Luckily, Edward sees my problem and opens a drawer beside the sink, handing me the desired utensil.

"It's good," I assure him, taking a sip.

"Oh, you know what you need?" he exclaims. "You need marshmallows!" He opens yet another cabinet and tosses me a bag of big marshmallows. "And they're not even expired."

I raise an eyebrow. "You have expired hot chocolate and expired milk, but your marshmallows are fine for some reason?"

"A man has to have the essentials, Bella," he says seriously.

"Mmhmm," I hum skeptically, adding two jumbo marshmallows to top off my mug anyway.

"See? Perfect."

"Perfect," I agree, chuckling despite myself.

"So you have your hot chocolate. What else can I get for you?"

"How about a tour of the pad?"

"Sure," he says easily. "I can show you where you'll be sleeping."

"Oh." I try not to look disappointed.

He pauses, seeing my face. "Bella, I –."

"No, no," I interrupt, already mortified by my reaction. "I get it. I was just thinking –."

"I wouldn't be able to control myself," he says solemnly. "I _did_ think about it," he admits, "but I don't know if I could –."

"I know. I get it. I probably couldn't either. I just kept thinking that maybe that wouldn't be so bad," I mumble.

"Are you saying that –?"

"No, I'm not saying anything. I'm sorry. I'm an idiot. Just ignore me for a second, ok?"

Edward grasps the hand that is not holding the hot chocolate and presses a kiss to my palm. "It's ok to talk about this, you know."

"I know, but we've already agreed on the rules and everything and I'm just being silly."

"It's not silly. I want you very much, too."

"Yeah, I noticed," I grumble, glancing down at his zipper.

He flushes, but kisses my hand again anyway. I almost wish he'd stop because his warm lips are making me insane. "What do you want, Bella?"

"Ugh, don't ask me that when you're like, two inches from my face and have had an erection next to me all night," I groan. "Of course I want to go to your bed and bang your brains out, but . . ."

He coughs at my wording, but holds my gaze. "But?"

I exhale noisily, sipping from my drink for time. "Maybe we should sit."

"What is it?"

"We're sitting," I prompt, pulling him with me back to the couch.

He follows willingly enough, but asks again, "What's going on?"

"Ok, right before I was leaving to drive to your house, my mom was acting super weird about me going and she told me that Mrs. Stanley – Jessica's mom – told her that Jessica said you and I seem awfully close."

"Wait, what?"

"Apparently Jessica has noticed that we're friendly somehow – I keep thinking she saw something or maybe it was just the way we talk to each other – and she told her mom who then commented on it to my mom. It just made me super paranoid that maybe word is getting out or maybe we're really bad at acting. I don't know. It made me feel like if something happens tonight, it will be that much harder to pretend it's a platonic friendship."

To my surprise, Edward starts to laugh – hard. Eyes shut, hands on belly kind of laughing.

Failing to see the humor of our relationship nearly being discovered, I ask him a bit sharply, "What's so funny?"

"Jessica Stanley, that's what," he chortles, swallowing a few times to calm himself down.

"What does that mean?"

"Jessica hasn't seen shit," he declares confidently. "She's just jealous."

"What?" He's still not making sense.

He snorts. "Do you remember the day we went out for coffee when Berty was trying to meet with me?"

"Vaguely."

"We were meeting about Jessica. She started coming to tutoring pretty much every day when you were . . . well, when you were gone for a bit," he says delicately. "It started fine, but the way she was talking to me and emailing me – it wasn't exactly like a student. It was more personal and it got more intimate after a few weeks – saying what she'd done over the weekend and how she wished I'd been there and oh, maybe we should go to some concert sometime. You know, _that_ kind of stuff. I had to talk to Berty about it to let him know what was going on. Ironically, I was more worried about Jessica Stanley getting me accused of sexual harassment than you."

"Jesus," I breathe. "Why didn't you tell me any of this before?"

He shrugs. "It pretty much resolved itself once you came back. But that's why I was laughing. I would bet you anything that she only said something out of jealousy. Maybe it _was_ because of the way we talk, but it's easy for me to seem more comfortable talking to you than to her because you don't outright proposition me at school."

"Well, not recently anyway," I joke, thinking of some of the more unfortunate comments I made to him those first couple months.

"Anyway, I wouldn't worry about Jessica. She has some cards stacked against her, too."

"Jeez, I guess so," I murmur, almost awed by the information. I never would have thought Jessica had it in her. At least she has good taste in men, though I'd prefer that taste to not be _my_ man. Heck, if I wasn't with Edward, I might even admire her foolish bravery. "I bet she'd gnaw her right arm off to be the one here instead of me."

He rolls his eyes. "Maybe, but I'd kick her out."

"Oh, yeah?" I ask playfully. "Why? She's got gigantic boobs." I've both envied and lusted after them for a solid two years since they grew in.

"Brains over boobs any day."

"Hmm, you wouldn't want a big-boobed number eleven, huh?

" _You're_ number eleven and your boobs are my favorite," he says with humor and sincerity.

"It's the piercings, right?" I joke. "It gets them every time."

"Them, huh? We never really got into your numbers too much even though you like to bring up mine all the time."

"Ugh, don't remind me. Not now."

"Now's the perfect time," he says good-naturedly. "I have you conveniently trapped here all night when you can't escape my interrogation."

"I have an alcohol clause, if you'll recall," I tease back, confidently evading his prompts.

He purses his lips for a moment and then stands, striding back towards the kitchen and returning shortly after with an unopened bottle of Scotch. Thrusting it into my hands with a clear challenge in his eyes, he says, "You were saying?"

Astounded, I ask, "Why do you even have this? You don't drink."

"Jasper gave it to me as a joke."

"And you're going to let your underage girlfriend drink this?" I ask incredulously. It's a dirty play to bring up my own age to escape speaking, but it's so rarely a fact I can use to my advantage.

"If it gets the truth out of you," he jokes. "Really, though, if you want to have a little, that's ok. You're not driving tonight. Besides," he adds in a softer voice, "if you drink that, I know I won't touch you tonight."

"Because you think the alcohol will cloud my judgment," I finish for him.

"Yeah. It's good moral insurance."

I stare him down for a moment and then deliver the bottle right back to his hands. "I'm good with my hot chocolate, thanks," I say pointedly, sipping at my melted marshmallow foam.

His eyebrows rise, but he does not comment, setting down the bottle on the coffee table. "You still going to talk?"

Maybe now is the perfect time not because _I_ can't escape, but because _he_ can't escape when he knows the truth. "Yes. But I need you to not freak out on me."

That directive abruptly changes the playful mood into something closer to apprehension. "It'll be fine," he assures me.

"Ok," I say shakily. "I . . . I guess I don't know where to start."

"How many people are we talking about here?"

"Just two."

The relief is evident on his face – god knows what number he _thought_ I was going to say. "Three counting me?"

"Three counting you," I confirm.

"And I already know about Emmett. So who was the other guy?"

I wrinkle my nose at him. "See, that's kind of the thing. It wasn't a guy."

The realization seems to smack upside the head as he says, "Ohhh" in a drawn out fashion. "Are you . . . are you bisexual?"

"Yeah."

"Wow."

"Like, good wow or bad wow?"

"Good wow? I mean, I just didn't know that. You've never said anything about –."

"I know. Emmett was kind of shitty about it, so I haven't felt comfortable talking about it."

"So you're into women, huh?"

"Yeah."

Edward's eyes twinkle. "What's your type?"

I give him a _look._ "Really?"

"I'm just curious."

"Dude, if we weren't together, I would bang Tori in two seconds," I blurt out. I've felt a bit guilty for my attraction to her since dating Edward.

His mouth drops open in surprise before a laugh comes out. "Jesus, I knew I shouldn't have let you two become friends."

"Too late, man. She's my backup if you break up with me," I joke – though I don't know how much I'm kidding. Tori got drunk when we hung out last week and told me about the sex dream she had about me and that got me riled up in the worst way considering my sexual frustration.

"You know, I knew we had a lot in common, but I didn't know our taste in women would be one of those things."

I burst out with laughter, feeling pink in the cheeks, relieved he's taking it well enough to joke about it. "I guess we know who to call if we ever want to have a threesome."

He stares at me dumbly. "Oh my god, why would you put that thought in my head?"

"Sorry?"

"Nope, it's too late. I've thought about it now. It's up here." He points at his temple. "Forever," he emphasizes. Shaking his head like he's trying to exorcise a demon, he focuses back on me. "So who was this girl? And if you say Tori, I will literally die on this couch right now."

I swallow. I shouldn't have let myself feel relief for his laidback reaction. He hasn't heard the worst of it yet. "Um, no, definitely not Tori. Uh . . . so the _who_ is the part that I need you to not freak out about."

"Ok," he says slowly – because my sexuality was supposed to be the big reveal here.

I inhale. I exhale. I inhale again – definitely not stalling, nope, not me. "It was Alice."

Edward's lips part for the briefest moment before they snap shut, his teeth clicking audibly behind them. "Alice," he repeats nearly inaudibly, vaguely gesturing at the couch cushion she occupied only ten minutes prior.

"Yes."

"Jesus."

I sigh. "I know. It's pretty bad. You can see why I didn't want to tell you."

"Does Jasper know?"

"Yes."

"Jesus," he repeats.

"It was an exploration thing that just happened to work really well for us – like, we didn't fight or get weird about it," I defend. "We stayed friends. I mean, it stopped once I started dating Emmett because Alice and I agreed to not do anything like that when either of us was in a relationship, but it was a pretty regular thing for about two years."

Edward seems stunned – slack jawed and silent.

"Say something."

He shakes his head.

"Are you mad at me?"

"I don't know what I am right now," he mutters. "That's . . . Jesus, that's a lot of information to deal with. I mean . . . _Alice_ of all people."

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I know it's crazy. But Alice is my best friend before anything else and we're not like that with each other anymore." I can barely look at him.

"I wish you had told me sooner," he finally says.

"I know. I'm sorry. I was scared about your reaction."

"After everything that's happened . . . I mean, the stuff about you dating Emmett and working for my family – I know you realized those connections the same time I did, but after all of that, I really don't want anymore surprises."

"That's it, I promise. No more surprises."

After a long moment, he sighs and puts his arm around me, tucking me into his chest as I hurriedly set down my mug for fear of spillage. He presses a kiss to the top of my head and rests his chin there; it's a shock to my system, unused to this more overt physical contact.

"Are we ok?" I can't help but ask.

"We're ok," he says softly.

"Really?"

"Yes. Everybody has a past."

"Including you?"

"Of course." He shrugs. "Not anything like yours, though," he admits. "What is it about you?" he breathes into my hair.

"What do you mean?" I ask his collarbone.

"You have a knack for having relationships with people I know."

I can't help my eye roll. "Well, I _am_ adorable."

He rolls his eyes, squeezing me once. "Bella."

"I don't know what to tell you. It's just a small world."

Snorting, he kisses my head again. "Ok, seductress."

"Um, excuse you. You are the _only_ person I've seduced," I scoff with mock disgust.

"And you did a very good job," he says, patting my head like I'm a toddler.

I pull away from him, looking him square in the eye. "Don't condescend to me. I could break your will in ten seconds."

Although I'm joking, he regards me quite seriously, his expression sober. "More like two seconds."

I inhale, taking a sturdier grip of his shirt fabric bunched in my hand.

Glancing down, he gently unknots my fingers. "Maybe we should go to bed," he says, his voice rougher.

"Do you really mean –?"

"Separately."

My teeth snap shut. "Oh."

"Bella, I –."

"No, sorry. I'm just horny," I groan, scrubbing a hand over my face for sanity. "Ignore me again. It's just because we're talking about all of this stuff and it's making me crazy."

His tongue darts out to moisten his lips. "I know. Which is why we need to go to bed."

Within seconds, he's off the couch and pulling me with him down the hallway, pointing out his bedroom, the guest bathroom, and my designated bedroom. It's minimalistic to say the least, but so is the rest of his home.

"Sorry about the boxes," he mumbles of the cardboard stacked in the corner. "I haven't really gotten around to unpacking everything yet."

"It's fine. As far as I'm concerned, this is the height of luxury. I only have a twin bed at home," I say too cheerfully, trying to save face from my poor showing of self-control.

"Do you need anything?"

A toothbrush wouldn't hurt, but I figure I can tough it out until the morning. "No, I'm fine."

"Ok," he says gently. "You know where to find me."

I nod, holding my arms out to him. "Good night."

"Good night," he says, enveloping me against his chest once more.

When he moves to kiss my cheek – one of his favorite gentlemanly moves – he lingers there for a second and I can't help but act on such weakness. I tilt my head just far enough so our lips are millimeters apart, our breaths mingling.

"Hey," he says.

I feel dizzy. "Hey."

"We have to be good," he exhales.

"Then let go of me," I say, pointing out the obvious next step.

For several heartbeats, he hesitates, his brow furrowed and conflicted.

"Oh, just kiss me," I groan, melting into him and letting our lips meet.

Just as every time before, we are not gentle with each other – we're far too desperate for such delicacy. We clash together with the full weight of the posturing we've been maintaining for months, two frenzied people gripping each other too tightly.

In record time, I've stripped off his shirt and found my own scattered to the floor, writhing where we stand. I get as far as his belt buckle before he swears.

"Fuck. Shit. We can't do this. Not now." He huffs out his words, his eyes a chasm.

It takes me a moment to disengage from him, unlocking my grip from around his neck with the gaze of a wounded animal; my legs feel weak now, like I chugged a few shots of that scotch after all. I sit down, head in hands, giving in.

"Say something," he says after a few shaky breaths populate the air between us. Ironic that he's the one begging now.

"I need a cold shower," I grumble.

He snorts humorlessly. "Me, too."

"Look, I'm sorry," I groan. "I suck at this."

Shaking his head and sighing heavily, he sits down beside me on the bed. "This is the first time we've really been alone."

"I _know_ , but I didn't think I'd lose my goddamn mind over it. I just . . . god, I want to be with you. Like, _really_ be with you."

"I want that, too. More than you know," he says darkly. "But you know why we –."

"Edward, if someone found out we were dating or that I spent the night here, they would assume the worst automatically. We wouldn't be able to defend our relationship as purely platonic anyway, so what's the big deal with –?"

"Because I'd like to not cross at least _one_ fucking line," he interrupts. "You're right that someone would assume the worst, but if ever questioned about it, I'd like to at least be able to honestly plead not guilty to fucking my student."

I cringe away from sheer volume his voice has achieved. "Sorry," I whisper, the guilt of my actions seeping into my tear ducts. I shouldn't push him. We've already agreed on the game plan here and I'm screwing it up with my lack of self-control. Not that he didn't kiss me back or assist in the whole tearing-off-each-other's-clothes part, but still.

"Bella," he sighs, his shoulders slumping, "I don't want to mess this up. We have five months left – just five. It feels like forever right now, but that's the difference between us losing my career and your reputation and us getting to live happily ever after."

What else can I say? He sums it up perfectly – as if I don't already feel enough like a horny asshole. "I told you I suck at this." I pout at him.

For some reason, this actually gets a laugh. "We both do."

"Well, you're right," I admit. "We need to suck in separate rooms."

"You ready to go to bed?"

Like I'm going to actually sleep after this rollercoaster. Mostly, I want the space to calm my erratic heartbeat and burdensome anxiety. "Yeah, I'm ready."

"Are you sure? If you want to talk, we can –."

"No, I'm good," I assure him.

He eyes me for a moment. "Ok."

Wisely, we don't attempt another hug and soon enough I'm left to lie in the dark on a monolithic bed, pondering my self-imposed threats to our happily ever after.

*V*V*V*V*V*

 **Some fluff, some confessions, some background, some sexual tension. Thoughts?**


	21. A Warm Glow

**I apologize for the delay in updating. I'll save you all the drama, but I've been in the middle of a family tragedy and that has made finding the right writing motivation quite difficult. I hope this chapter makes up for the wait. :)**

*V*V*V*V*V*

For at least an hour, I replay my conversation with Edward, thinking about what I could have differently, things I should have said, and the promises we made to each other. I conclude that I'm a foolish girl out of her depth.

It's not like I thought I'd be perfect considering my lack of experience and my age, but the guilt is what keeps me awake more than anything. Why does Edward even bother with me when I so obviously can't control myself?

"Bella?" I hear Edward's voice say softly from the other side of the door accompanied by two short knocks.

"Y-yeah?" I ask, wiping hastily at my face.

He cracks open the door, silhouetted by the hallway light. God, he's only wearing boxers. I've never seen his chest before. "I could hear you crying from my room."

"Thin walls," I mutter stuffily, pretending I'm not entranced by the trail of hair on his abdomen.

"Are you ok?"

Obviously not. "Yeah."

Sighing, he strides to my bed and holds out his hand. "Come on."

"Where?"

"Just come on," he says, wiggling his fingers at me.

I'd follow him anywhere.

"Oh," he says, inhaling sharply when I throw the sheets off of myself. Without pajamas handy, I'm wearing only a black thong and white camisole.

"I didn't have pajamas to –."

"I could have lent you something."

I shrug, though the thought of stealing some of his clothing is alluring.

Defeated, he says, "Come on" again.

Blinking rapidly as my eyes adjust to the light, Edward tugs me forward towards his room, flicking on the bedside lamp to bathe his room in a warm glow. He has a queen sized bed with rumpled, white sheets and cardboard boxes labeled BEDROOM in capital letters at the foot of the frame. A singular black and white photo of a mountain rests above the bed.

I am distracted by the four different bookcases crowded with novels when he murmurs, "Lie down."

God, where is this going? I follow my orders, though I'm staring at him – wide-eyed. Once I'm appropriately nestled in, he shuts off the hallway light, closes the bedroom door, and lifts the blanket to insert himself beside me. To my surprise, he tucks one arm under my head and uses the other to reel me into his embrace, further preventing escape by intertwining our legs.

At odds with the fact that I immediately press my palm flat to his stomach to make as much skin-to-skin contact as possible, I breathe, "You don't have to do this for me. I know I'm upset, but if it's easier to –."

"Shhh," he hushes me. "I want you here, ok? I don't want you to be sad."

"It's working. I'm feeling better already," I joke, lightly patting his abdominal muscles.

He rolls his eyes and stretches his neck to rest his chin upon my head. "You're ridiculous."

"So is your six-pack," I mutter, trailing a single finger down his belly.

He catches my errant finger in a fist under the blanket. "Naughty."

"I don't know why you're surprised. You just let a horny teenage girl in your bed."

"I _thought_ I let an upset teenage girl in my bed," he grumbles.

"I _am_ upset. I'm just making jokes to make myself feel better about my impulses."

He removes his chin from the crown of my head, drawing back to look at my face. "I don't understand why you're so bothered."

I sigh, dropping my sexual bravado. "Because I feel like I should be better about not giving into that kind of behavior. I'm worried I'm being . . . I don't know – _disrespectful_ to you or something because you have so much more to lose in this whole thing than I do and it's inconsiderate of me to not get a hold of myself."

"Oh my god, Bella," he groans, squeezing me tighter. "Don't think for one second I don't enjoy you drooling over me."

I snort, hiding my face against his pectoral muscle.

"No, I'm serious. What guy wouldn't want a gorgeous girl lusting after him and trying to get naked all the time? I mean, really, I'm living the dream," he teases.

I peek at him. "Yeah?"

He touches the tips of our noses together. "I love it. Promise." Ducking his mouth to my ear, he whispers, "And all this waiting is going to make it incredible when I actually get to touch you. I bet you're wet even now."  
Who-the-what-now? I jerk my head back to ogle him, trying to absorb this sudden gearshift. "Are you . . . are you talking dirty to me?"

He purses his lips at me, bemused. "Don't look at me like that. Cuddle back up here and enjoy it. This is all we have right now."

Good point, good point. Am I shaking? Yep, hands are definitely trembling. But at least if he's the one initiating, I can't blame myself for fucking this up. "Um, y-you were saying?" I whisper, closing my eyes and nestling back against his neck. My voice wavers just as much as my hands.

"Hmm, something about you being incredibly turned on."

"Is that what I am?"

He touches my face and grazes down my neck and collarbone with his fingertips. "Are you?"

Rasping in a breath, I nod. "Yes." Really, I shouldn't be considering my nose is still stuffed up and my throat hurts from crying, but the unprecedented physical contact is short-circuiting any leftover insecurity.

"Good," he breathes, kissing my cheek. "I had an idea – a compromise."

"Hmm?"

"I want you to come."

I jerk my head up, eyeing him. "How?"

"Touch yourself," he says in that compelling voice of his. His eyes are hooded and serious.

"Here? Now?"

"Here. Now."

I purse my lips and glance down the sheets. "What about you?"

He blinks at me and a dangerous, crooked smile twists his face. "You want to watch me come?"

I nod dumbly, my mouth agape. This is so much more than I bargained for.

"Ok," he agrees softly. "But I want you to come first. Do you think you can do that?"

More nodding. I'm mute now. This man has rendered me mute. Call me naïve, but this isn't what I expected when I got into bed with him.

He grasps the sheets and removes them from our bodies in one swooping motion. "I want to see you."

Ditto. I'm looking at his boxers and the hint of the contents within. In a fit of nervous energy, I sit up, peeling off my tank top to reveal my bare torso, watching Edward's reaction carefully.

He inhales through his nose, nostrils flaring and pupils dilating. "Those are different," he whispers, looking at my chest.

"Oh, yeah, I changed the piercings," I explain, fingering the small, silver rings that replaced the barbells. Letting my hands drop to my sides, I ask, "Do you like them?"

He nods emphatically, though his eyes drift down to my underwear with a raised eyebrow as I hook my thumbs in the band.

"You said you wanted to see me," I say in a breathy, sing-song voice as I remove those, too. I haven't shaved as recently as I would like, but Edward is looking at me with enough passion that I don't feel ashamed.

"You're so beautiful," he breathes, resting his head in his hand and carefully not touching me. Instead, he gazes over my body – head to toe – like I'm an exquisite painting with hidden brushstrokes in every curve.

Taking a deep breath, I let my hand drift down to my thighs, finding myself as wet as he assumed, though my motions feel unsteady. "Keep talking to me," I sigh, settling into my familiar routine – except for the prickling sensitivity of my skin.

"Beautiful Bella," he coos in my ear. "I want you so badly."

"Mmm-hmm," I prompt. I'm trying not to think too hard about what I'm doing or feel any embarrassment over my naked body. I'm safe with him.

"Look," he whispers, his eyes directing me downwards to where he grips himself through the fabric of his boxers, creating a strained outline. "This is what you do to me."

"Yeah?"

"All the time."

For a moment, I wonder how on Earth Edward's rationalizing this to himself as being platonic enough to pass his conscience because he's saying the dirtiest, most wonderful things to me. My breathing pattern has been hijacked by my rampant heart – all because of his delicious words. In any case, it's enough to make me focus on the task at hand, increasing my tempo of rubbing my clit. I'm more sensitive than usual, letting out short breaths, staring downwards where Edward is touching himself.

"Take those off," I grunt at him, nodding at his boxers. I want to _see_ him.

After a moment's hesitation, he lifts his hips, scooting the elastic band down his thighs and chucking them off the side of the bed. His erection is freed, swollen and resting on his belly. I find the sight so incredibly provocative that I have to ball my free hand up in the sheets to keep myself from touching him. Because now we're in his bed together, completely naked, alone in a snowstorm with nowhere to be until morning.

Our eyes meet and I can see he's thinking the same things I am. Nothing to be done for our magnetic attraction. His hand twitches and I think for a moment that he will reach for me and ignore all the rules we've made for ourselves, but instead he grips himself.

"Keep going," he says softly, reminding me of my job.

I exhale and press my finger back over my clit, my eyes locked on his motions. Maybe it's actually seeing him touch himself – and fantasizing that he must do this all the time while thinking of me – that gets me to the point of orgasm, but I'm surprised by how quickly it happens. I find myself tensing and moaning – maybe playing it up a bit because I have an audience, after all – and then relaxing into the flood of hormones that reward my efforts.

"Beautiful," he whispers, his voice coarser as he picks up the pace of his own ministrations. "I could watch you come forever."

"Deal."

He snorts at me and closes his eyes for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing. I think he must be close already. I want so badly to take him in my mouth that I bite my lip, watching in anticipation.

Even though he was steadfast in not touching me while I masturbated, my self-control is far less developed – so I reach out and place my palm flat on his chest, stroking down his abdomen.

He opens his eyes to peek at me, but says nothing, continuing to stroke himself at a faster pace. After a few short minutes, his breathing becomes panting and his mouth parts. Based on his curling toes and groans, he comes far harder than I did, shooting onto his belly.

There's a long silent moment where we breathe, looking at each other, coming down from coming. It's hardly the kind of romance I've imagined for my first time being completely naked with him, but this feels almost more intimate for our careful compliance with not taking things too far. Not that we haven't crossed leaps and bounds, but I feel a sense of relief thinking that maybe we could repeat this little procedure in the future without worrying about breaking the rules. It would probably do wonders for my sexual frustration.

"You ok?" Edward asks me.

What a silly question. "Yes. You?"

"Tired now," he admits a bit sheepishly, getting up from the bed. I'm entranced by the sight of him walking across to the adjoining bathroom to clean up; his dick is still sticking straight out from his body, proud and distracting.

I wonder if I'm supposed to get dressed again or if he expects me to return to the guest bed now that I'm no longer upset, but he answers my question by pulling back the sheets, slipping into the bed beside me, and pulling me into his body. Given we're both still naked, I tense up at first.

"Is this ok?"

"Are we going to sleep like this?"

"That was my plan."

God, who even is this man? I'm supposed to magically relax next to this _butt naked_ man? This is a far cry from the relentless caution we've exercised thus far. "O-ok."

"We don't have to –."

"Nope, I'm staying. It's happening. Good night," I say in a sweet rush, making a show of tucking myself into the sheets and wriggling against his body into a more comfortable snuggling position.

He chuckles at me and kisses the top of my head. "Good night."

My lips impulsively part to tell him I love him, but the words catch in my throat. Maybe it's too soon still. Maybe I'm just trying to say it because of all the endorphins singing in my bloodstream. Maybe I'm a chicken-shit.

I tuck my face against his check and he turns out the light, leaving us in darkness that contrasts sharply with the warm glow in my chest.

*V*V*V*V*V*


	22. Shit Meets Fan

*V*V*V*V*V*

It feels like I've barely submitted to my tiredness when a pounding sound jolts me from my sleep.

Edward jerks beside me, grumbling "What the fuck?" as he climbs out of bed and slips on boxers.

I rub my aching eyes, realizing that the hammering is someone banging on the front door as Edward irritably stalks out of the room. Given how insistent and incessant the sound is, I hurriedly detangle myself from the mess of sheets in an attempt to get dressed, all too aware that I am completely naked in my teacher's bed.

I hear the door open followed by the sound of yelling and rushed footfalls.

"Where the fuck is she?!"

My heart hammers, recognizing that voice all too well.

I've barely pulled my underwear on when Emmett bursts through the door to the bedroom, eyes raging as he fixes upon me. Instinctively, I cover my bare breasts, but the damage is done. He's already drawn every conclusion.

Edward appears behind Emmett in the doorframe, eyes wider than I've ever seen them. "It's not what it –."

"Don't you fucking tell me it's not what it looks like!" Emmett roars, turning to face Edward.

"We didn't do anything!" I cry reflexively. It's stupid considering I'm literally holding my boobs in my hands and, as far as Emmett's concerned, Edward and I might as well be having sex. Somehow, the defense that we only watched each other masturbate and then cuddled in the nude all night doesn't seem much better as I stare at Emmett's enraged face.

"How long?" Emmett demands of Edward, ignoring my defense altogether. When Edward doesn't immediately answer, Emmett screams, " _How long?!"_

"A few months," he answers quietly, jaw clenched.

Emmett's nostrils flare and before I know it, he's drawn back his fist and connected it with Edward's face.

I scream and lurch forward as Edward stumbles into the hallway, groaning.

"I love her, you motherfucker!" Emmett bellows at him.

"So do I! You're the one that dumped her!" Edward yells back, standing upright.

Emmett lets out something akin to a war cry before I grasp his forearm in an attempt to halt his attack. However, I might as well be a gnat for all the good I do. The force of his swing is enough to knock me against the doorframe, smacking the back of my head.

I cry out from the pain and the only good news is that my injury is enough to distract Emmett from his warpath.

"Shit," he grunts, reaching out for me.

"Don't touch her," Edward hisses.

Looking upwards, I see some of Emmett's anger dissipate in favor of fear and heartache. A flash of regret passes his eyes as he takes in my mostly naked, crumpled form before he swears again and stomps off, slamming the front door behind him.

Edward immediately looms over me, his left eye already swelling. "Are you ok?"

I gingerly prod the back of my head and grimace when I feel wetness, retracting my fingers to find blood.

"Jesus Christ," Edward groans. He scrambles on the floor for a moment before grabbing his discarded t-shirt from last night, balling it up and pressing it to my head. "Here, hold this tightly."

"I think it's just a little cut," I assure him.

"We need to take you to the hospital," he says flatly.

I open my mouth to argue, but the look on his face silences me. "Give me a minute to get dressed." Robotically, I move to a standing position, pleased by my balance, and gather my white camisole from the floor before traipsing across to the guest room for the remainder of my clothes.

Delicately pulling on my shirt around my head so as not to get any blood on it, I am ready to go within a couple minutes. Edward is dressed in the same jeans as last night, though his shirt is obviously different since I'm still pressing his previous one to my skull.

We don't speak as we get into Edward's car, silently driving towards the hospital on slick roads. Last night's blizzard has left several inches of fresh snow that I numbly stare towards, continuously replaying the fight in my head. My mind is going miles a minute wondering if Emmett will tell anyone, how I will explain this to my mother, how badly I misjudged Emmett's supposed stabs at friendship. Had I been utterly blind to his feelings? We've only spoken a handful of times over the past few months – just a few phone calls that were pleasant, but not particularly deep or meaningful. Well, not meaningful to me at least.

God, what a clusterfuck.

And what was Emmett even doing there? And how did he know where I was? Did Jasper say something to him? Should I reach out to Emmett to try and limit the damage or just wait for what comes?

I'm so lost in my own thoughts that Edward's ringing cell phone breaking the deathly silence of the car makes me jump.

"Shit," he mutters. "It's my dad."

My heart starts hammering. He must know. Emmett must have called him. Before I can ask if he's going to answer it, Edward holds the phone to his ear.

"Hey." There's a painfully long pause where I can hear Carlisle's voice speaking at a high pitch, but can't make out the words. "Jesus Christ, Dad," Edward groans. "He doesn't know the full story and you don't either . . . no, I can't right – . . . no, not right now . . . _not right now_ . . . because I'm driving to the hospital . . . no, not me . . . yes, she's with me. Emmett knocked her down and now she probably needs stitches," he bites out. "Because he punched me in the face and she tried to stop him," Edward continues. "No, he's fine. I didn't hurt him . . . yes . . . no . . . I don't know. Whenever we're done at the hospital . . . yes, we'll talk then. Bye." He hangs up and exhales loudly, jaw clenching.

"What did he say?"

"He asked me if it was true that I was having sex with you and I told him he doesn't know the full story."

"But you told him I'm with you!" Surely that's incredibly incriminating.

He shrugs, world-weary. "It's the truth. God knows what he's assuming right now anyway."

I swallow and the action hurts my dry throat. "And you're going to explain everything to him? Like, _everything_ everything?"

"I don't have much of a choice now," he sighs. He finally looks at me, eyes zeroed in despite operating a vehicle – his left eye is starting to swell shut. "It's not going to be pretty. I didn't want to tell him until you graduated."

"I know," I say, reaching for his hand across the central console. "But I'll be here for you."

He squeezes my hand back and doesn't speak for the rest of the ride to the hospital.

*V*V*V*V*V*

 **Like I was going to let them have a good time without some drama!**


	23. Promises, Promises

*V*V*V*V*V*

I haven't seen Edward for three days. New's Years Eve came and went and school starts in a couple days and I think I'm going crazy. It's partially because my mom freaked the fuck out when I came home with four stitches at the back of my scalp and partially because Edward has been too busy. At least, that's what he tells me. I don't think it's preoccupation so much as the panic, but our phone conversations have been brief.

He and his father are supposed to be coming by any minute, presumably to talk about what the hell has been going on. It was Carlisle's idea – which would be comforting if I had any idea about his reactions aside from Edward's cryptic comments.

I'm staring at my wardrobe, trying to decide what to wear for this gathering from hell. Part of me wants to dress up like I did when Edward came to dinner that first time, to make a good impression. But another part of me feels like dressing for battle because I can't imagine this being pretty. I go for jeans and a midnight blue blouse that's a bit more formal, my hair pulled back in a slick ponytail. It makes me look older, but that's by design. I almost swipe on some dark maroon lipstick, but pause with the tube suspended by my lips. Too much, I decide, looking at my reflection in the mirror. The moment I decide I'm presentable and take a deep breath, the doorbell rings and I know it's time.

My mother answers the door as I descend the stairs like a convict going to the gallows. I see the tops of one blonde and one copper head in the doorway, pausing to greet my mother.

"Hello, I'm Carlisle Cullen," Edward's father says, extending his hand politely, though his pleasant smile is conspicuously absent.

"Renee Swan."

"Thank you for agreeing to meet. I think there's a lot we should all discuss." As he says _all_ , his eyes flicker to mine. I swallow.

"Yes, I think so," she mutters and I think I'm the only one that hears the sharpness in her voice. She stands back to allow them entry, gesturing to the living room and looking at me as they pass her. Her mouth is pursed, but her eyes are soft. _Everything will be ok._

Carlisle sits in the recliner by the fireplace and I automatically sit next to Edward on the couch, leaving my mom the loveseat, three points of a tense triangle. Edward glances down at me and, focusing on his face for the first time since he dropped me off here three days ago, I gasp. There's an ugly bruise – much worse than the one I first gave him – on the left side of his face, yellowing in some spots, but mostly swollen purple.

"It's fine," he says softly, cutting off my sharp intake of breath.

I'm silent, but I seek out the hand resting in his lap and squeeze it. He squeezes back once and then lets go, removing contact. That worries me more than any nightmare scenario I've been dreaming about this meeting.

"Well, let's get started, shall we?" my mother prompts like she's calling court into session, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

Carlisle nods brusquely and I remember, belatedly, that he's a CEO and accustomed to business exchanges. "I'm sorry I'm here under these circumstances. I'm sure you know that your daughter interned at my company and I have a great deal of respect for her."

"Thank you," my mother says. "She really enjoyed her time there. I hear you had lunch with her once."

"Twice," I blurt, quickly biting my lip and meeting Carlisle's eyes again. This time, he smiles gently and I actually feel myself relax.

"Twice," he agrees. "Your daughter is very bright and I only heard good things about the work she was doing." After a moment, he adds in a more serious tone, "I understand why my son feels the way he does." Aaaaand the pleasantries are over.

Edward's hands clench in his lap.

"And how do _you_ feel about it?" my mother asks calmly.

Carlisle sighs and he looks older than I've ever seen him. "I've already discussed this with Edward, but I'd like them to stop seeing each other at _least_ until the end of the year."

I exhale audibly, my lungs feeling like limp balloons. It's not like I didn't expect this – in fact, this is not anywhere close to my worst fears – but hearing it spoken out loud still crushes me. I whip my head to stare at Edward – is this why he's been so distant? – but his gaze doesn't waver from his father.

Carlisle continues, "I'm not naïve enough to think I could keep anybody apart for very long– nor would I want to because, as I said, I like and respect Bella – but I can't ignore the legal ramifications of this."

"Believe me, I understand," my mother assures him. "I don't want them at risk of someone finding out, but I hope you understand the precautions they've been –."

"Not enough precautions," Carlisle interrupts softly. "She should never have been at his home." For the first time, there is a note of accusation in his tone, though I can't tell at whom it's directed.

My mother sighs. "I allowed it. I'll take the blame for that one."

"My son found them in –."

"I know how he found them," she cuts in sharply. "I also know that he gave my daughter four stitches over it."

I grimace. "It was an accident," I say, though my voice is too soft. It seems ridiculous to defend Emmett when I feel a flare of anger every time he enters my consciousness, but nobody else here is speaking the truth about it.

"I've spoken to Emmett," Carlisle says grimly. "I won't defend his actions, but he agreed to start seeing a therapist about his anger issues." This is news to me – news that clangs oddly in my head, trying to imagine Emmett thoughtfully articulating his feelings. Maybe I never gave him enough credit. "Regardless of Emmett's behavior, I don't want Edward to lose his job over this relationship. If they're both committed to each other, then I don't think it's too much to ask them to wait one more semester – for both of their sakes."

My mother holds up her hands in a ceasefire. "Considering they see each other every day, I don't know how realistic that is. As far as I'm concerned, Bella and Edward have been very transparent with me about their relationship and how they're handling things and I'm comfortable with them continuing on as they have been – minus the visits to Edward's house," she adds, glancing at me pointedly.

Carlisle shakes his head emphatically. "All it takes is one person. And this is a small town."

"Yes, it is. Which is why I'm prepared to tell people that your son is so lovely to agree to tutor Bella for the AP exam," my mother says icily. "If anybody sees them driving together or at my house, as far as they know, it's because I'm paying him to teach her to make sure she gets college credit."

I stare at my Valkyrie of a mother with new eyes, trying to remember a time she's ever been _this_ assertive. Now she's making up a backstory for us just so we can be together? She didn't even speak to me about this.

Carlisle's mouth is slightly agape. God knows what he expected when he stepped foot in our home. "People will make assumptions – especially after she graduates."

"They're going to make assumptions anyway. That's how these things go. Besides, it sounds like Edward doesn't plan to stay here anyway."

"Excuse me?" Carlisle asks, his eyes searching my mother's and then Edward's. "You're going to leave your job?"

"Dad, this isn't the time to talk about this," he deflects.

"After all the difficulty you had getting hired in the first place, do you think employers want to see someone changing schools every year?" Carlisle demands, though I detect more parental concern than derision.

"People change schools all the time and _this isn't why we're here._ "

Carlisle's gaze lingers on Edward for too long before he shakes his head and focuses back on my mother. "So you have no concerns here?"

"I wouldn't say that," she snorts, "but, no, I am not going to try to stop them from seeing each other."

"I guess I'm outnumbered then." He looks a bit shell-shocked, older than I've ever seen him. For a moment, I feel a flood of guilt for causing him this distress, for having the audacity to love his son.

My mother sighs. "Edward, why don't you take Bella for dinner and let me talk to your father alone for a bit?"

I perk up immediately at the prospect of escaping and getting to be alone with Edward, though I can't imagine what she feels she has to say to Carlisle in private. Still, I grip Edward's hand urgently until he stands with me.

"Dad?" he asks.

Carlisle nods warily – and then I'm pulling Edward out the door with me, secreting him away to his Volvo, anxious for his face, his voice, his hands.

"Where to?" he asks me, putting the keys in the ignition.

"Anywhere. I'm not hungry. Let's just find somewhere we can talk."

He eyes me for a long moment, staring over the worried lines in my forehead, and sighs. "I'm sorry I haven't called very much."

I exhale. "It's ok. Well, I mean, it's not. I've been freaking out. But I know things have been crazy."

"You have no idea."

"Then tell me." Maybe my tone is too desperate.

He nods and his jaw unclenches for the first time all evening. He puts the car into gear and doesn't tell me where we're going, but I don't care. I can't stop looking at him anyway. It feels like it's been decades since we were last together – and with that ending so horribly, I've been oscillating between one fear and another, uncertain of his feelings or intentions.

Finally, he begins to say the things he's held back for three days and it comes like a flood.

"I wanted to kill Emmett. I mean that literally."

"How did he even know I was there?" That question has been bugging me for days now, wondering how he found out.

"He didn't," Edward says curtly. "He was just coming over to check on me after the blizzard. He saw your truck outside and put two and two together."

"Jesus."

"After I dropped you off with those fucking stitches, I wanted to find him and . . . and . . . Christ, break his arm or something. I ended up going to my dad's house and he calmed me down a bit, but he wanted to know everything. He was jumping to conclusions about our relationship and that almost made me madder than what Emmett did because he was . . . well, he asked me if I had raped you or taken advantage of you in some way and it just fucked me up to hear my own father thinking that about me. It was because of the shit that Emmett said, but still."

Edward doesn't seem to hear my "oh my god".

"The more I told him, the more he relaxed. I mean, don't get me wrong, I had a lot to answer for, but I told him everything and I think he mostly gets it now."

"When you say everything, do you mean –?"

"Everything," he affirms grimly.

"Wow."

"Yeah."

"I suppose it was pretty generous that he was even talking about us being together after the school year."

"He didn't it see it that way at first," he admits. "That took a few days – but I'm getting ahead of myself."

"Sorry."

"No, don't be. There's just a lot to tell you and I want to keep it all straight." He smoothly turns onto the highway running east and resumes. "So once I reassured my dad that it was all consensual and that your mom was fully aware of our relationship – he couldn't believe that, by the way – he made Emmett and me sit down together."

"Oh, Jesus," I groan.

"It was actually . . . I don't know – I mean, I'm still so mad at him for hurting you, but I just never talked to him to like that before."

This surprises me more than anything he's told me thus far, but I ask, "Does he know about us? I mean, the details?"

"Yes. I explained. He had trouble believing that I didn't know who you were and he . . . well, he had a hard time hearing about our relationship. He called me a pedophile and some other shit, but he came around, too. You know what got him?"

I don't even bother shaking my head.

"He didn't know what you wanted to go to college for. It came up and he didn't know – I think it kind of jolted him that he was saying how in love with you he was, but he didn't know that."

"Because he likes the idea of me," I surmise, unsurprised.

"I wouldn't even go that far, but he's had a rougher time at college than he's let on and I think he was clinging to you for safety."

"So how did you guys leave it?"

He lets out a long sigh. "He says I'm messing up your life by holding you back, but he also understood my feelings about you. I guess I would just call him on the fence. From my point of view, he's really conflicted about his feelings for you."

"Maybe therapy is the best thing for him then." Of course, I'm of the opinion everyone would benefit from therapy, so I'm not saying much. Mostly, I just want someone to get it through his head that we'll never get back together.

He grunts – non-committal.

We're silent for a while – which seems unbelievable to me considering how much I've wanted to talk to him the past few days. I think I'm overwhelmed, maybe for the better. Emmett's halfway to accepting us; Carlisle said he has no problems with us dating once I graduate; my mom has been on board for ages. And Edward's next to me again. For all the fears I've had, it feels like we're reaching equilibrium, like things will be ok eventually.

"What are you thinking?" he asks.

A smile peeks out at him. "Like things might actually go well and we'll get to live happily ever after."

A corner of his mouth turns up and he reaches across the car to squeeze my hand.

"So where are we going?"

He snorts at this. "I have no idea. I just started driving. I want to get out of Forks."

"Let's just find somewhere to park."

"You sure you don't want to eat?"

"I'm sure."

Before too long, we've pulled off into some nature reserve parking lot outside of town, the pine trees looming large and dusted with snow. Perhaps because of the temperature, there are no other cars.

"Is this ok?"

"Perfect," I say, blushing a bit. My brain has already turned to the thought of being alone with him and isolated in the woods.

He's staring at me and I realize how much more relaxed he looks now, how his brow is not furrowed, his mouth not pursed. "I've missed you so fucking much."

"I missed you, t—." I'm cut off by his lips crashing against mine, his hands pulling at me.

A few days away from him has not improved my self-control. If anything, I feel more desperate now. When aren't we desperate? It feels like we always come to each other in times when we've both resisted for too long, too shattered to maintain sense.

I push the button to release my seatbelt and sink my fingers greedily into the warmth of his coat, feelings his abdomen, the way his chest is heaving. He pulls me closer, almost uncomfortably so, before I realize he wants me on his lap. It's not elegant to clamber over, but he helpfully pushes his seat back to allow me more space. I'm wedged between his body and the steering wheel, but his hands are bold enough in grabbing my ass that I don't care.

"Is this ok?"

I want to shush him – of course it's ok. Everything's ok. _Take me now. Do anything you want to me._ But I nod instead and unzip my coat, inviting him to touch me more.

With the way he's kissing me, I'm not surprised when I feel his hand – fuck, it's cold – sliding up my shirt, sneaking under the cup of my bra to brush my nipple. It hardens immediately under his icy touch and he rolls it in his fingers, pinching me gently, playing with my piercing.

I moan into his mouth, grasping his hair.

His hand fondles the entire handful of my breast before retracting from my shirt. He cups my face in his hands, breaking from our kiss.

I don't understand, wondering why he stopped.

His eyes sear me. "I love you."

It's the easiest thing to say, "I love you, too."

"It doesn't matter what they say," he breathes, a note of relief in his voice. "Our parents or the people in this town. I want to be with you the rest of my life. We'll make it work. I promise you."

Because I don't know what else to say, I kiss him again, pressing our bodies together almost painfully tight. I want him. For the rest of my life, too – but especially right now.

"I want . . ." I mumble, losing my nerve.

"Tell me."

"I want to have sex with you. I don't want to wait until graduation."

His eyes close and he nuzzles into my neck, kissing the skin there, exhaling. "Ok."

I pull back to see his face and find only gentleness. "Really?"

"Really."

There's no helping the grin that splits my face. I immediately dive back into his mouth, running my hands down the parts of his torso I can reach, wiggling on his lap against the erection growing underneath me.

"Bella, not _here,_ " he groans. "Not now."

I huff at him, pouting.

"We'll find a way, but not in a public parking lot. We've had more than our share of parking lots already. I want it to be right."

"But I'm not allowed at your house anymore."

"And you're not allowed to have sex with me either," he points out.

"Fine."

He laughs at my petulance and kisses my nose. "I want you, too, beautiful girl. We'll find a way," he repeats.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

 ***V*V*V*V*V***


End file.
